


Shadow On the Road

by peachesanddenim



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural/Twilight, Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Basically an excuse for me to rewrite twilight, Everyone Is Alive, M/M, Supernatural/Twilight - Freeform, Twilight AU, Vampires, supernatural/twilight crossover, they're gonna fucc, until they die or become a vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-07 09:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11620947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesanddenim/pseuds/peachesanddenim
Summary: As Dean stands there, rain slowly soaking him through, he becomes aware of three facts. One; Cas is a vampire. Two; a part of him, and who knows how big that part may be, longs for Dean’s blood. Three; Dean’s unconditionally and irrevocably fucked.He's gone and fallen in love with him.





	1. Go All the Way (Into Twilight)

**Author's Note:**

> I fucking love Twilight, and I fucking love Supernatural, so here's an excuse for me to rewrite Twilight and every little thing that bothered me in the books! It's not really edited, but I've checked and rechecked. Good luck, though!

Go All The Way (Into Twilight)

\--

Green. Overwhelming, depressing, ugly green that presses in on Dean from all sides. That's what Forks, Washington is, green as hell.

Now yellow. That's what Dean misses. The crunchy, sun-kissed yellow of dead grass in the summer, his mother’s hair in the breeze, the sunsets he could see just over the autumn leaves of the tree outside his window. Or blue, like the clear, cloudless sky above the indigo plants and the blue bonnets that sometimes escaped Texas for the Kansas summer.

He is denied those colors now, especially when he glares outside his new window at the endless rain, blurring the ever present greenery.

“I know it isn't colorful, but, it's home.” John Winchester, Dean's father, stands in the bedroom’s threshold, cautious and far more gentle than Dean remembers.

Dean has no real problem with his dad, and forgave him years ago for the bad temper that led his mother to flee to Kansas until she died a year ago. It’s Forks that Dean hates. “Yeah.” Dean concedes, grieving his bedroom back in Kansas, which had been one he shared with his friend at their house during Mary’s trial. He still can't believe it took a fucking year for Mary’s death to be pronounced as murder and the fucker who did it convicted. It wasn't until that happened that John could gain custody. “I guess it is.”

He hears Sam turn on some kind of CD, a punk band that screams about their pussy feelings. Sam, Dean's kid brother, is taking it particularly hard. He’s never gotten along with John, and Dean doubts he ever will. The only parent Sam has ever really known is dead.

“Don't worry about him, Dad. He’ll grow out of it.” Dean assures, uncrossing his arms to grab his suitcase and chunk it on his bed. The room is nearly the same as it had been when Mary took them away to Kansas, save the master bed that’s replaced the race car frame his father built him for his fourth birthday.

John grunts, and takes his cue to leave. There’s one thing about John- he doesn't hover.

Dean makes a point not to cry, even in the privacy of his own room; a luxury he and Sam only have here. Dean unpacks his suitcase, teeth clenched and throat tight. He aggressively tucks his clothes into a light wood dresser beside his window, which faces opposite his bed. He hears the rain pattering against the fogged glass and he rolls his eyes. He hates the rain. He hates Forks. He hates that his mother is gone.

Having already ate dinner at the airport before he and Sam loaded into John’s squad car, Dean only bothers with a shower before going to bed. He grabs a miniature duffle bag, black and cracked from years of travel, and makes a home for it in the cupboard above the sink.

After his shower, and in his only pair of pajama pants, he slips underneath his covers, glowering up at the wood paneled ceiling. Rain, he can hear it pit-pattering away in earnest. Dean groans, and throws a pillow over his face. Sleep won't come easy in Forks.

Around midnight, and without any sleep, Dean stumbles out of bed, shocked by the cold outside the blankets. He sneaks into the room across from his, Sam fast asleep, laying starfish on his twin bed. He'll grow too tall for it by spring. On his bedside table is the CD he'd been playing on his sound system. Dean grimaces as he passes by it, and instead grabs the portable CD player Sam used at school. Dean swipes it and takes it back to his room.

Grabbing one of his own CDs from a grocery bag beneath his bed, Dean settles back under the blankets, listening to the familiar riff of Led Zeppelin. With Robert Plant’s voice blocking out the rain, Dean finally falls  
asleep.  
\--

The morning meets them with more rain. Even with their new jackets and cold weather clothes, it shocks Dean and Sam to the core, and they both eye the sky in betrayal.

John takes them to school in his squad car, but at least they’re both in high school, so the trip is short. Dean always hated the detour for Sam's middle school back in Kansas. Sam’s a freshman now, though, which only adds to his angst.

After John drops them off at the curb, Dean runs to the attendance office- labeled by the big ‘A’ on its outside- and sighs with relief once he’s escaped the rain. Sam isn't far behind him, so they enter the office together.

The lady at the front desk looks up absently, then does a double take once she realizes who they are. The Chief’s kids, home at last and the flighty Campbell girl murdered in their wake.

“Mornin.” Dean greets, grateful for the slight drawl he'd picked up in Kansas. At least he has that.

“Good morning, dears.” The woman replies with a smile, already digging around for their schedules. “You must be Sam and Dean Winchester. You look just like your daddy.” She addresses to Sam, who forces a smile.

“That's me.” He answers softly. Dean pats him on the back. Sam hates that, so Dean doesn't dare tell him the scowl he's sporting is identical to John’s.

“The bell is gonna ring soon, can we get our schedules?” Dean asks, and the woman hands them over. She smiles sweetly, maybe picking up on their get-it-over-with attitude. Dean offers a quiet goodbye and they exit the office.

“Well, good luck.” Dean grunts, turning to Sam, who looks completely put out; Jesus, the day hasn't even started. “Hey, it's fine. You're fine.” Dean reminds him.

Sam shrugs. “Whatever.”

Dean rolls his eyes and turns away. He can't get through Sam's walls these days. Dean knows it's a phase, he knows he misses mom, so does Dean, but it’s still annoying. Dean isn't about to waste his time trying to make Sam feel better when he doesn't want to. Instead, Dean heads to his first class.

Dean's morning classes are boring and easy because they're mostly math, and math is his strong suit. He isn't looking forward to his literature classes after lunch, but he at least has Microbiology right after as a buffer. At lunch, he spots a girl named Ava, who had talked to him in a couple of his classes. He sits with her after he grabs a coke and a cheeseburger.

“Hey, this cool?” He asks her, and she nods through a bite of burger. She swallows.

“Sure.” Ava says excitedly, raising her chest to the tabletop. Dean’s eyes linger long enough for him decide, eh- maybe later.

“It's cool having fresh meat sitting with us.” Another girl- Dean thinks her name is Becky- says kindly, and the rest of her friends nod and give their agreements. Dean forces a smile back, and looks around for Sam. He’s a few tables over with a couple of other freshman. At least he isn't eating lunch in a stall.

“So, Dean-,” says some scruffy dude. Ash, maybe? Or Dusty. “Kansas, right? Aren't you supposed to be a cowboy or something?” Thank god none of them mention his mother. Dean’s not stupid, they all know.

Dean lets himself laugh a little, but ends up choking on his coke. He coughs for a moment, before managing to reply.

“I was, but my horse license is only valid in Kansas.”

The group laughs, and Dean smiles genuinely for the first time that day.

He's pulled from the moment, however, when a gust of cold wind settles over the table. He looks for the source, annoyed- it turns out to be a door to the cafeteria, leading in from the outside.

It's here where he sees them.

The first one walks in on a pair of designer heels. Her legs don’t stop, and her torso doesn't either. She’s tall, her body like that of a celebrity’s. She’s possibly the most beautiful woman Dean has ever seen, with scarlet tresses falling to the small of her back and skin the color of alabaster.

A man follows behind her, led by her hand. He is tall as well, broad shouldered and strong, with messy platinum hair and skin just as pale as his predecessor. Not far behind him is another pair, a short man with slick golden hair and a wicked smile. He swaggers alongside a taller man, with dark brown hair and a pained expression.

Dean’s turning to ask his new friends just exactly who these people are, when yet another walks in, and suddenly Dean can't breathe.

He’s Dean's age, with skin like Kansas clouds and hair like a winter night. His lips are full and plush, and his chin is peppered with a slight shadow. He is, in every literal sense, flawless, and it's unsettling. That doesn’t take away from his beauty, though, enhances it even. It’s dangerous.

“Who is that?” Dean asks without thinking, and as if he hears him- which is impossible- the beautiful man locks eyes with him from across the cafeteria. Dean is startled by their color- dark and stormy like the Forks sky. In fact, Dean is pretty sure all their eyes are that color, all set above dark purple bags, like they haven't slept in a week.

Ava follows his gaze, and chuckles darkly. “Castiel Novak.”

“Are...they all related?” Dean ponders, searching for some explanation. They all look so different, but also so similar. _Wow, Winchester,_ that _made sense._

“Well, Gabriel and Anna Milton are brother and sister; Anna is the redhead, Gabriel’s the short one.” Becky hisses, before she confesses in a squealing whisper, “ _Technically_ , they're all foster kids in the same house, so it’s weird that Anna and Lucifer are...together!”

“Lucifer?” Dean scoffs, and Ava and Becky shrug.

“He’s the big one. The Nichols, Lucifer and Gadreel, they're twins, Gadreel is the one that looks like he has a broom up his ass.” Ava points subtlety toward their table. They're not eating, just talking to one another. _What_ , Dean thinks, _are they too pretty to eat_? “Then there's Castiel, the foster parent’s real son.”

“Huh.” Dean huffs. A weird ass family. Not something foreign to Dean, although their appearances sure as hell are. Dean tears his eyes away, and finally bites into his burger.

He doesn’t think about the Novaks for the rest of lunch.

\--

Becky walks with him to Microbiology, giving him a rundown of what they’ve gone over so far in class between blushes and fluttering eyelashes. Dean doesn't have the heart to tell her he already took it back in Kansas, or that she's not his type. Sam's maybe. Dean chuckles.

When Dean walks into the classroom, a fan assaults him with cool air. He swears, and tries to fix his hair, ruffling it and grimacing when droplets of rain fly around.

“Hey.” Dean approaches the teacher’s desk at the front of the classroom. He's an older black man with glasses. “I'm the new kid, Dean? Have a place for me to sit?” The teacher points to a table with one other occupant, thankfully with no introduction to the class.

However, the boy at the table Dean was just assigned is Castiel Novak, and he’s looking at Dean like he just murdered his entire family. Dean does a double take.

Dean shakes his head, he’s not about to let some asshole scare him off. His mother may have been retired as a cop, but she still taught Dean to defend himself.

Dean drops his backpack from his shoulders to settle on the ground and plops onto his lab stool. He clicks his head to the left, eyeing Novak. He’s glaring full force directly into Dean's eyes, and _by god_ , they are black, simmering above grey-purple bags that sink into face his like he's nothing but a skull covered in weak papier mache.

 _What the hell did I do_? Dean scrambles to put together some instance in which he might have offended the Novaks. He finds nothing, considering he literally _just_ saw them in the cafeteria for the first fucking time. Apparently, this particular Novak is just a grade A dick.

Dean rips his gaze away with a scoff, tuning in as best he can on the teacher, who lectures on about onions. But no matter how hard Dean tries to focus, all he can concentrate on is Novak’s burning gaze. Dean knows Novak is still staring at him, can see in his peripheral vision that he's clamped a hand over his mouth and nose.

Dean rolls his hands into fists, ready to swing if this freak tries to jump him. He wasn't exactly expecting this kind of thing in Forks, but Dean is eager for it. Eager for the opportunity to show everyone in Forks that Dean isn't someone they can push around. Some tangible reason to fight against Forks. Some way to get this roiling fucking grief out of his system.

Miraculously, the bell rings, and Novak is up and out of the room faster than Dean thought humanly possible. Dean gapes for a moment, before he rips his backpack up off the floor and stomps out into the hallway to confront Novak.

Dean looks around the hallway hurriedly, but Novak’s recognizable raven hair is nowhere to be seen. He’s gone. Dean runs a hand over his face and growls. He’ll confront him tomorrow then.

\--

However, for the rest of the week Novak doesn't show. He isn't even just skipping Microbiology, he isn't at lunch, isn't at school. Dean glares at the empty space beside him, before leaving school furiously every day.

At least he isn't thinking about Mom.

When the weekend comes around, Dean decides to call his friend Charlie, knowing he should have done so the second he got to Forks. He dials her on the landline, hoping it'll distract him.

“Oh hello, fucker!” Charlie answers happily, sunlight in her voice. Dean feels his body deflate for the first time since getting here. Leave it to his best friend to be his only salve. “How goes it?”

“It's alright I guess.” Dean sighs, eyes drawn to the rain spackled window. “Pretty fucking wet.”

“Goals, it's like Middle Earth!” She chuckles, and holy shit, does Dean miss her. He imagines himself back home in her living room, playing video games and unaware of a shitty future. Like a normal Saturday night. Dean laughs too, and instead looks down at his homework, finally distracted from the rain. The paper is rough beneath his fingers, and stains the pads with blue ballpoint.

“It's not the fucking Shire, that's for sure.” Dean grumbles, remembering with a scowl the less than warm welcome from Novak. Charlie makes a clicking noise.

“Are kids bullying you?” She asks gently, and Dean blushes a bright magenta. Charlie is never going to let that go.

“Not exactly.” Dean admits before he realizes he'd rather keep Novak a secret. He grimaces and closes his eyes. Damnit.

“What do you mean?” Charlie demands, a protective edge in her voice. Dean slams his notebook shut.

“It doesn't matter, Charlie, I'll handle it.” He huffs, the moment gone. Again his brain is vibrant with the thought of him.

Charlie sighs on the other line. “If you say so, Dean. But you know you can talk to me.”

“I know.” Dean replies quietly. The patter of rain slowly grows louder and louder, making its way back to forefront of his consciousness. “Bye, Charlie, I love you.”

“Love you, homie, don't forget to IM me.”

Dean presses the end button and restrains himself from throwing the thing across the room. He doesn't understand how someone can invade his thoughts like this. Not even a pretty girl can do this to him, not even Robin freshman year.

Dean groans and falls back onto his bed, the shadows of clouds brushing over his figure until it’s dark. When he hears John calling him down for dinner, he painstakingly props himself up on his elbows and stares out into the waning twilight.

For once, he wonders what, besides the rain, could be out there.

\--

On Monday, Dean isn't expecting anything, especially not Novak. Imagine his surprise when he sits down next to him in Microbiology.

“Oh hey, asshole.” Dean barks, throwing his bag down and sliding onto his stool with a screech. Novak’s face is carefully blank when he finally looks at him, and Dean comes up short. Where the man’s eyes had been black as tar, they now glimmer a heavy blue. Like the Kansas dawn. The purple bags beneath like lilac plants. Dean sucks in a breath and absently draws closer to make sure it isn't just a trick of the light. Novak leans back minutely.

“Hello, Dean.” He says, and it's the first time Dean's even heard him talk. First, it's creepy that he knows Dean’s name. Second, his voice is so extremely rough Dean finds himself clearing his throat in discomfort. “I would like to apologize for last week. I was very sick that day, and your cologne made it hard for me to breathe.”

Dean tries not to think about the fact that he'd been using Sam’s gentler cologne ever since. “Yeah, well, that doesn't explain the looks you were giving me. Like I fucking murdered your family or somethin’.” Dean snaps, voice lowering as class began. Novak looks contrite, face like porcelain in the grey light creeping in from the windows. He’s beautiful. Dean pinches himself.

When did he start thinking guys were beautiful?

“I am so sorry, Dean.” He says simply, and Dean huffs. Whatever, what's done is done. Apology made, let the grudge begin.

“Thanks.” He says sarcastically, and gestures lazily at the materials on their lab table. “I did this back in Kansas, so let's just get it over with.”

Novak nods stoically and brings the microscope to his eye. “Anaphase.” He whispers, voice like a cold breeze in the static air. Dean bites his lip.

“Mind if I check?” He asks boldly, whisking the scope out of Novak’s hand. Novak’s eyes paint a smug look.

“Not at all.” So Dean does, and is pissed to find that it is anaphase. He sighs in defeat and writes it down. He slides in the next sample.

“Easy. Prophase.” He boasts, and goes to write that down too.

“May I?” Novak asks quietly, and slides the microscope gently across the table. He checks it, Dean glaring at him the whole time, until he pulls back with a soft smile. “Prophase.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Dean chuckles, writing down the answer with gusto.

The rest of the class goes the same, and when the bell rings not only does Novak not storm out, but he follows Dean to his next class.

“Dude.” Dean says, glaring incredulously at the man, who’s been staring at him with a creepy, intense gaze all the way from Microbiology. “What?”

“I am just trying to understand you.” Novak tells him, genuine confusion gracing his features. Yeah, gracing, it somehow makes him look even better.

“Uh, why?” Dean asks. Novak’s eyes bore into Dean’s and he can't look away, caught like a fly in a web, until Novak speaks again.

“You are annoyingly difficult to read.” He mumbles, anger in his otherwise smooth tone.

“Then don't read me!” Dean scoffs, turning abruptly into his next class. He knows he's blushing like a little girl and he bites his lip hard, hoping Novak isn't going to follow.

Dean tries not to feel disappointed when he doesn't.


	2. Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all Natacha! I wanna thank you for pointing that out! After today, I'll be updating two chapters every Wednesday! Sorry, my reply wouldn't save, RIP

Full Moon  
\--

“Dean! Come look who’s here!” Sam yells from the bottom of the stairs. Dean scrambles from his perch on his bed to follow him down. Sam leads him outside, laughing for the first time since the move. The Saturday morning is even lit with sunlight, and when Dean sees it glint off Robert Singer’s wheelchair, he can't help but grin. 

“Bobby!” He chuckles, rushing forward to hug him. He knocks elbows with Sam who's already there, and pulls back when the old man starts grumbling. 

Dean and Sam have known Bobby for as long as they've been alive, and he's the closest thing to an Uncle they’ll ever have. He used to be John’s partner until he was shot in the back and had to retire when Dean was thirteen, but he's remained John’s best friend. He did move to the reservation to fish more, but it just means he has to come here every time he wants a fish fry. Dean and Sam grew up eating fish Bobby caught just for them. 

“Get off me, idjits.” He growls, but the smile on his face is testament to how he really feels. Standing awkwardly to the side is their Grandpa Samuel. Dean goes to shake his hand, remembering his darkened presence at Mom’s funeral. 

“Hey, Grandpa.” Dean greets stiltedly. “How's the reservation?” 

A retired Chief of the Caileuete Reservation Police, Samuel Campbell is old, bald, and a man who maintains a level of stoic wisdom that has never been rivaled. The only part of his mother Dean can see in him is the eyes, which shimmer an unearthly hazel-blue, which has also been passed down to Sam. 

“Good.” He says with a small smile, and Dean finds himself feeling bad for the guy. He got about the same deal that John did, daughter and grandsons not only raised off the reservation but states away. And all she fucking got for it was a knife to the throat. They frown at each other. “How are you, Dean?” 

“I'm great.” He says plastically, and for a split second, Dean even believes himself. Samuel eyes him knowingly, darkly, before turning to Sam, who's talking quietly with Bobby. “Hey, Sam!” Dean calls.

Sam comes jogging over, and smiles falsely up at Samuel. “You were at the funeral.” 

“Yes, Sam, I’m Samuel.” The older man responds, shaking Sam’s hand when the boy offers it. 

“Your grandfather.” John finishes, leaning against- Dean’s breath hitches- the most beautiful car he's ever seen. Dean doesn't even bother sticking around for the reunion. He needs inside this car yesterday. 

“A 67 Impala?” Dean says shakily, looking at Bobby and John incredulously. The two men look incredibly pleased with themselves. Hell, if Dean had restored this behemoth he would be too. 

“Yup. And it's yours, boy.” Bobby grunts, and he throws a set of keys. They glisten as they jostle through the air and all at once everything seems to be in slow motion. Dean catches them and all he can hear is his own breathing. This car is his. This gorgeous metal contraption of glory belongs to Dean fucking Winchester. 

Everything bursts back to life again when he hops in and turns the engine over. The engine roars so loud Dean can feel his teeth chatter when he grins. 

After he's restrained himself from orgasming then and there in the cream leather seats, he turns the car off and rushes outside to hug his father, then his Uncle. 

“Holy shit, you guys.” He yells, the two men evidently happy with themselves. “Sam!”

He runs over to the two Sams, pulling his brother from their conversation. Sam glares at him until his eyes finally flutter to the Impala. His jaw unhinges and he turns to Dean again. “Is it yours?” He asks excitedly, hazel-blue eyes catching the sun like a stone in water. Dean nods and the two rush back towards the car, not noting or caring about the tension between the three men in their wake. 

“Sam wishes to tour the high school on the reservation.” Samuel tells John when the three meet in the driveway. John’s hackles raise until Bobby sets a hand on his arm. 

“It might be good for him, John.” Bobby sighs, looking away when John’s betrayed gaze lands on him. “He's always been different, always interested in the Campbell history. And ever since… it might help with the anger.” 

John’s eyes draw away to linger on his youngest son. Sam is, without a doubt, in need of a guidance neither John can nor Mary could give him. 

The Campbells aren’t Native American, but nonetheless they are family to the Caileuete. The Campbell Family has been protecting the tribe since it set its roots in Washington soil. They take their job seriously- a lifelong dedication. Mary was the only one who dared break it. 

Perhaps the routine and loyalty to something so important will steer Sam in the right direction. Besides, Sam has always been more Campbell than Winchester. So like his mother. John swallows the grief down. 

John turns back to Samuel, and his heart beats hard in his chest. Samuel’s eyes glint strangely in the sun.

“If that's what Sam decides. Then fine. I want the best for my son.” John clenches his fists and hisses, “But if he ever gets hurt out there like Deanna and my father, or Mary I'll kill you.” John promises, poking Samuel’s chest, which is burning hot beneath his polo. The man’s smug look is gone, and after a tense moment, he nods. 

“Sounds good to me.” Bobby agrees, glaring at Samuel. “C’mon then you grumpy fucker, get me home before the game starts.”

Dean pulls himself and Sam away from the Impala long enough to say goodbye to Bobby and Samuel. Sam leaves with them, though, saying something about going to school on the reservation. 

Whatever, Sam’s always been a nerd for the Caileuete. It's part of Dean’s heritage too, sure, but it's not him. Not like it is for Sam.

But if he loses Sam, too, Dean doesn't know what he'll fucking do. 

Dean and John spend the rest of the weekend watching games and eating leftover pizza. John is quiet, and so is Dean, so it's actually kind of nice. No whining tweenage Sam and his depressing fucking music, and maybe there's no Mom hovering about his issues at school, but Dean has his father.

Just a guy and his Dad. 

Dean thinks he might learn to like it here. 

 

\---

When Sam finally makes the transfer to the reservation, it's October, and school life officially becomes boring and morose as hell. There's no more brief glimpses of Sam’s angered expression in the hallway, and Dean tries not to miss those little blips that brightened his day. It's whatever, he’s a big boy. So’s Sam. They'll be fine. It's not like Dean will never see him again. Besides, there's plenty of girls smiling and blushing at him in the halls to tide him over. 

He does, however, keep running into a less welcomed but equally annoying person; Castiel Novak. Today, Dean’s not in the mood for the guy’s constipated stare and intrusive questions, but when he drops the apple he’d grabbed from the food line, guess who's there to catch it. 

The apple lands in Novak’s silvery palms, it's crimson peel like blood against his skin. Dean snatches it back as soon as Novak offers it. 

“Hello, Dean.” He says- his usual line- and Dean rolls his eyes. He begins walking away, nails making crescents in the weak skin of the apple. Dean hears Novak rush after him and he groans.

“Novak.” Dean allows, stopping abruptly to stare the shorter man down. “What do you want?” 

Novak seems hurt for a small moment, but his normal expressionless mask slips back into place. “I was simply saying hello.” 

“You know, Cas-,” Dean’s eyes widen at the nickname, but he sucks in a hardening breath and continues as though it hadn't happened, “If you want to be my friend, just be my friend. Stop being so complicated and, I don't know, fucking weird. It's not a courting.” 

Novak, like every other time Dean uses foul language, smiles one of his barely there smiles. When he doesn't say anything and just keeps staring at Dean, which he does way too fucking much, Dean begins walking away again. 

“Dean.” And of course he's right in step with Dean, like he'd never been left behind. “We should not be friends.” He says gravely, and now Dean's feeling a little offended. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with him? Why isn't he good enough for this guy? Not that he wants to be, but fuck. 

“Then fine, leave me the hell alone!” Dean tells him brusquely, and of course now he can't escape because they're outside of their Microbiology classroom. 

“I can't bring myself to.” Novak says quietly, more to himself. An absent statement that has him looking away, frustrated. He's like a kaleidoscope to Dean, blindingly beautiful and as equally confusing. Always changing, but the content remains the same. 

“Then don't.” Dean is ashamed by the soft want in his voice, like he actually wants Castiel to be his friend or something. Because he doesn't. Why would he? 

Castiel looks at him again, eyes so fucking blue Dean’s pulled under their weight like an anchor, the sockets cushioned by lavender circles. Finally, Castiel just lets out a private breath, before turning on his heel and walking away. Even his gate is unusually elegant, and god, Dean wants to punch him.

He really needs to get laid. 

The rest of the school day goes by in a blur, Dean’s thoughts clouded by, as usual, Castiel. Does he even want to be Cas’ friend? Why should he? The guy’s an asshole, a really beautiful asshole, but still. Besides, he's twisting Dean up with his looks, his voice. Dean isn't supposed to feel this way about another guy, much less one that belongs on the covers of magazines. He wishes mom was alive to tell him what the fuck he's feeling. 

He just, seems lonely. And some part of Dean wants to fill that obvious hole in Cas’ life. Another small, distant, duct taped shut part of Dean wants Castiel to fill his own gaping wounds in return. Platonically, of course.

Dean’s chewing his lip thinking about it- he of course takes a moment to send a glare toward Castiel, who idles by his Volvo across the parking lot- all the way to the Impala, which glistens reassuringly in the grey sunlight. It's badassness isn't dampened by the chains John put on its wheels. He's been worried about the gathering ice on the roads, and Dean hadn't had the heart to refuse him. 

He’s so distracted thinking about what Cas would look like in the passenger seat that he doesn't hear the screeching of car breaks until he sees the car hurtling toward him and it can't be ignored. He feels the cool metal of the Impala at his back and he's grateful for having at least that before he dies. Maybe he'll get to see mom again. 

It happens so fast. 

He's thrown to the asphalt so hard his head bounces of it with a crack. His eyes fly open, and he's expecting to see his body mangled between the cars, but instead it's… Castiel. He's standing over Dean, one hand pushing a dent into the van, and the other clenched so fucking hard around Dean’s arm it almost hurts worse than his head. 

Dean must either have a concussion or he's dead, because it's impossible that one, Castiel is with Dean when he was across the parking lot four seconds ago, and two, Castiel has seemingly brought a van to a halt with his bare hand. Suddenly, Dean really wants to hurl. 

Castiel finally looks down at him, and his normally placid eyes are frenzied as he looks Dean over. “Are you alright?” He demands, and Dean doesn't trust his words so he just nods. Castiel purses his lips, and then he's gone, jumping with ease over the point of impact between the two vehicles. Dean mourns the Impala’s back light. 

Dean pushes himself up and tries to suss out what the fuck just happened. He can hear the sirens over his own thoughts, and he groans as he lets his head drop into his hands.

\--

Honestly, the stretcher is a bit much. Sure, Dean’s head hurts like a motherfucker, but he can obviously walk- he walked to the damn ambulance. 

As soon as he's pushed into the ER, John hops up from a chair in the waiting room, the front of his uniform damp with sweat. Dean can't imagine what would've happened to John, losing his ex-wife and son within a span of two years. Maybe he and Sam would've finally found peace together. 

“Dean, what the hell happened? Are you okay?” He asks gruffly, tears in his green eyes, hands hovering over Dean like he wants to check for injuries but doesn't know if he's allowed to. Dean waves his hands away. Jesus, he is fine.

“Dad, I’m fine!” Dean snaps, throwing his hands up around the neck brace. “I don't even know why the fuck they put this on me.”

The nurse pushing him through the throng of very loud people scoffs. “He hit his head, hard, and he has abrasions and bruising on his arm.” 

Dean keeps tight-lipped about how it was Castiel who put those there- with his grasp. They finally break through the doors at the end of the hall, and Dean groans with relief into the quiet. 

They transfer him to a bed and the nurse scurries off to find a doctor. John checks his head for any open wounds, but of course, there isn't any. Because Dean is fucking fine. 

Dean can't stop himself from thinking of the crash. How did anything in the last hour even happen? Just- fuck Castiel. Fuck him and his impossible strength that shouldn't exist, fuck him for saving his life and leaving Dean alone to be poked and prodded at the hospital. He rips the neck brace off.

“Dean Winchester?” Dean glares up at Cas. No wait, that's not Castiel. The man has the same eyes, the same snowy skin, the dark hair and impeccably straight nose, but he's older, in his late thirties. This must be his father. “I’m James Novak, your doctor. Why have we been brought in today?” 

Dean opens his mouth to say he's fine, but John beats him to it. 

“Hey, Doc.” They shake hands, a soft familiarity there. “Dean was in a wreck. All he did was hit his head, but he hit it damn hard.” 

James nods, and a stupid and confusingly gorgeous smile lights up his chiseled features. “You must be very fortunate.” He leans down, and pulls a light from his pocket. “Can you keep your eyes open for me, Dean?” 

While he's checking Dean’s eyes, which are not nearly as interesting as James’ sparkling sea green ones, Dean says in a hurry, “You know, if Castiel wasn't there to push me out of the way, I wouldn't be here.” 

“What?” John asks, incredulously. “Your boy?” 

James blinks at them, confused. His expression melts into a plastic but polite surprise. “I suppose so.” 

The tense moment is disrupted by Sam, who bursts through the doors like a bat out of hell. “Dean!” He gasps as soon as he's seen him. He practically barrels Dean over with a hug, scrambling all over his lap on the hospital bed. “You're okay! I thought I'd lose you, too.”

Dean hugs Sam back, comforted by his familiar smell. He didn't realize how much he missed his little brother. “Hey, I’m alright. It's all good.” 

The rest of the visit goes the same, telling people over and over that yes, he's fine, no, he’s not mad at Ash. John arguing that he's very mad at ash. Blah blah blah. When they finally let him go, it's nighttime, and Dean’s brain is throbbing against the walls of his skull to the beat of Enter Sandman. He might actually take the pain pills James prescribed him when he gets home, but he sure as hell isn’t going to tell his dad that. 

Dean hangs around longer than Sam and John to use the bathroom, and when he exits, Castiel is waiting for him outside.

“Hey!” Dean demands, feeling his face warp into a scowl. “Where the hell have you been?” 

Castiel swallows thickly, but returns the scowl with one of his own. “Lower your voice, Dean.” 

“Why should I?” Dean snaps, throwing his arms out. A wave of dizziness jitters through his limbs, and Dean’s afraid he might fall over until Castiel steadies him with a hand to his shoulder. He's shocked by how cold it is, even through his hoodie. “Afraid I’ll reveal your secret identity?” 

An unnamed emotion ripples across Cas’ face- the bags beneath his eyes are dark like indigo today- but it's gone so quick Dean doubts it was ever there. “You hit your head, Dean.” 

“Hard enough to see you scale the parking lot in five seconds?” Dean hisses, whispering despite himself. “Not possible, Cas.” 

“I was standing beside you, Dean.” Castiel rumbles through clenched teeth. Dean hears a distant scoff, and he looks over Cas’ shoulder to see Anna and Lucifer, watching the whole interaction. They’re at the opposite end of the hall; no way they know what they're talking about. 

He drags his eyes back to Cas, whose patience is obviously waning. Dean’s ready to give him a piece of his goddamn mind, but Cas beats him to it.

“No one will believe you. Save yourself the trouble.” If a human could growl, Castiel would have it mastered. His gravelly voice in such a tone sends terror through Dean’s body like an electric shock. Dean closes his mouth and the two men glare at each other until John pops his head through the exit door.

“Dean, lets go. You need to rest.” 

Dean brushes roughly past Castiel. It doesn't help that it's like running into a wall. He grabs his already bruised arm and grimaces. Jesus.

Dean looks back once he catches up with his dad, and he's not surprised to see that the Novaks are gone.

They leave no trace. 

\--

“Can you believe this weekend’s weather?” Ava sighs, spreading her limbs wide atop the tabletop like a plant in photosynthesis. It's not even freaking sunny yet- just warm. Dean laughs at her, but he gets the excitement. Hell, he's wearing shorts. “We should go to the beach!” 

“I'd be down.” Dean grins, imagining the cerulean waves in the sun, the feel of it freckling his skin. All his female friends in bikinis. He shudders just thinking about it. He seriously needs to get out of Forks. Maybe he'll even see Sam on La Push. 

Ava and Dean recruit a couple of other friends for a Saturday night beach trip, like Ash- whose constant apologies drive Dean crazy- Becky, and Ava’s friends from volleyball. It's not Dean’s crowd, but it's not like he has one of those, anyway. Not even back in Kansas. At least the girls are hot.

He does, against his better judgement, have one person he’d like to invite. 

Microbiology is slow today, since it's a Friday and Mr. Turner knows damn well no one is going to get any work done. Dean has been doodling guns in the margins of his notebook all period, trying to summon the courage to speak to Castiel, much less ask him to hang out or whatever. They haven't really talked since the crash. 

Dean rolls his eyes, he's acting like a girl with a kindergarten crush. 

“So.” He begins, lowering his voice. Oh yeah, great Dean, now he's going to think you're mocking him. 

“Yes?” Castiel asks, acting as though he's still immersed in his book, but if Dean were to look over, he'd see Cas staring softly at him. So Dean doesn't. 

“Some friends and I are going to go fuck around at the beach this weekend. If you wanna, you know, come.” Dean asks briskly, glaring down at his doodles. He knows he's blushing, so he turns away and hopes to god Castiel doesn't notice. Jesus, why does he want Cas to come anyway? He treated Dean like shit at the hospital. Fuck. 

Dean still wants him there. 

Cas honest to god chuckles. Dean’s eyes flutter up to meet Cas’ and his eyes are a dark navy, like the ocean at dusk, the changing night sky reflected in the waters. If he were to look close enough, Dean thinks he would even see stars. 

Dean’s breath leaves him all at once. Like a deflated balloon.

“Where is this beach?” Castiel indulges, inching closer. Dean gets a whiff of him, and holy shit does he smell enticing. Like really good coffee, with a bite of raw cinnamon. Good enough to fucking eat. 

Dean blushes even darker. He sees Cas’ eyes light up at the sight. “Uh- La Push? You might get to meet my brother, he lives down there.” Dean forces a wicked smile. “There'll be a lot of half naked women.”

Castiel smiles, seemingly resigned. “I can't, Dean. Too crowded.” His eyes move to the thin clouds outside, which look ready to split open and reveal the sun at any moment. The bags beneath his eyes are a blooming violet. “Besides, my family and I are going on a hunting trip this weekend.” 

Dean sighs. He knew it was a long shot, and part of him was even hoping he'd say no. Still, it doesn't help cushion the stone of rejection that drops heavily in his stomach. “Well, have fun killing things.”

Cas smiles just large enough to reveal a row of glittering ivory teeth, a secret gleam to his eye.

“I always do.”

\--

The beach is chilly, but it's bleached with sweet sunlight. It paints everything in pale yellows and blues. Dean grins, feeling it's brief warmth as it peeks in and out of the clouds. It's just what he needed. He feels like he can finally fucking think straight. It helps that Cas isn't here. Dean regrets even inviting him. 

Ava and her girlfriends frolic through the water in stringy bikinis, more than a few trying to catch his eye. Dean is drawn to one of the Caileuete girls who came with Becky, her skin gleaming a russet brown in the dark green waves. Their gazes meet and she blushes fiercely. Ha, look who's the blusher now. Dean feels his chest inflate and he winks at her. She giggles, and runs further into the water. 

Oh yeah, beach sex is so going to happen. 

Dean’s content to sit on the sand and soak up the rays for now though, knowing damn well he’s getting sunburned and being perfectly pleased about it. He's missed this. He closes his eyes and feels the autumn breeze dance against his eyelids. 

“Dean!” Dean opens his eyes, pale lashes fluttering against the sun’s beams. Through them he sees Sam, running up to him with a youthful grin. For a moment, he looks so much like their mother Dean can't help but think this is heaven. “Found you, finally. Jeez, remote part of the beach, much?”

His hair is red in the sun, skin olive and tanned. His hazel-blue eyes glimmer like sand in seafoam and Dean’s missed his little brother. 

“Hey, don't hate.” Dean laughs, playfully punching the younger boy. Sam bursts into a happy peal of laughter and tackles him to the ground. The two wrestle for a bit, and Dean finds himself actually, honest to god joyful. He hasn't felt this way since before their mom died. 

“Always.” Sam promises after they've settled, panting in the chilled air. “So, how are things? Head okay?” 

Dean nods, hand absentmindedly straying to his head. He shakes the sand out of his hair with a grimace. The question reminds him of Castiel. 

He thinks of Castiel and his hand in the van’s side, he thinks of Castiel at the other end of parking lot, dark hair moving softly in the wind. He thinks of the bruises mottling his left bicep. Dean sighs. It’d been nice while it lasted. 

“Hey, do you know the Novaks?” Dean asks abruptly. Salty air rolling up from the ocean fills his mouth like a warning. Sam’s brows furrow and his lips thin. Weird. 

“In theory.” Sam hums. He hops up, and holds a hand out for Dean to help him get vertical. “Let’s walk.” 

The two of them stroll down the beach, getting closer and closer to the forest line, which radiates a cold that reaches out to raise the hair on their arms. Dean shudders. 

“The Novaks aren't welcome on the reservation, actually.” Sam tells him thoughtfully, looking back at Dean’s friends and the highway beyond. Dean bites his lip. So Castiel lied. Not surprising. 

“Why the hell not?” Dean huffs, confused. How the hell does a whole family get kicked off a reservation? Shit, if it had to be anyone. Maybe all the Novaks are just dicks.

Sam sighs, and plops down on a fallen log, the bark bleached white by the ocean breeze. 

“It's a local legend, I guess.” Sam explains once Dean’s joined him. He brushes his stupid hair out of his eyes, and grins secretively. “Get this- The Caileuete? They have an enemy, but only one enemy.”

Dean’s heart leaps in his chest. An enemy is something dangerous, and if Castiel is anything, it's that. The strength, the speed. It's inhuman. Dean wants to be scared.

He doesn't admit to himself that he isn't. 

“What is it?” Dean gripes, annoyed by Sam’s penchant for dramatic pauses. Sam chuckles, teeth gleaming in the setting sun. 

“Let me finish.” Sam snaps. Dean holds his hands up in mock surrender. Sam continues with a glare. “See, the Caileuete had just moved here, and a family of kind hunters- The Campbells- were helping them sow the land. One night, a child from the camp went missing, and then another, and then another. A group of brave Campbells made a perimeter around the camp after the sixth night, and only one survived till morning.”

Dean’s heard a lot about the Campbells, but never this, never their origin. He wonders why. 

Sam’s voice goes on darkly. The sky blooms a unsettling crimson as the sun sets. 

“This man, our ancestor, spoke of a creature dressed as a white settler long since dead. He moved with the speed of a bird in flight, killed with the strength of a bear.” Dean sucks in a breath. “His skin was pale like the snow that peaked the mountains, his features beautiful like the sky above them each murderous night-,” it comes out again in a shaky exhale. “-and his eyes, his eyes were as red as the blood that stained his mouth.” 

He called it a Cold One. But when the Campbells could not defeat it, a family of more Cold Ones arrived, and saved the tribe from the rogue. The family Novak. But they were deemed too dangerous, and sworn from the land.” Sam finishes, before ending it with a goofy howl. Dean clenches his hand so tightly around his knee he thinks he might break it. 

Cold Ones. A gust of freezing wind blows past them, and Dean’s head whips around to the forest line. Something about it is entrancing, a siren on an ocean rock, Castiel’s gaze splicing into his own. 

“That's why they say us Campbells stick around the Caileuete, to forever protect the tribe from the Cold Ones. For whatever reason, we’re the only ones who can. No one’s told me why yet, not even Grandpa.” Sam pouts, unaware of the epiphany happening inside Dean’s head. It's like a firework display of confusion and frustration. 

“What the fuck is a Cold One, exactly?” Dean stresses. For some reason, he feels like he has to sneeze, but he can’t, like he's not there yet. On the very edge, teetering. It's fucking annoying. 

“Well, in other cultures they'd be called vampires. Other than what I got from the legend, I don't know.” Sam hums, before he raises two fingers to his mouth for fangs and hisses. Dean wants to laugh, to know with certainty that it’s a joke. A myth. 

Dean swallows thickly, and can almost feel the beat of his heart. The blood coursing through his veins. The blush in his cheeks. 

He wonders if Castiel can sense all of that, too.


	3. Decode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Wednesday, my dudes! Two new chapters! I love reading comments to leave them, leave them! If you enjoy my story, bookmark me because I will continue to update I promise! Love you guys, hope you enjoy!

Decode  
\--

When Monday rolls around all Dean has to show for it is an extremely painful sunburn, a chunk out of his soul called Sam right next to the one named Mom and more questions than he began with. 

“What's wrong, Dean?” 

Dean startles, hard, and he nearly chunks his books all over the damn floor. Novak is immediately on the wrong end of a very pissy glare. “You have got to stop doing that.”

“My apologies.” Castiel looks concerned, his eyes- now back to a clear sky blue- scan him worriedly. See, not red. Blue. “You're hurt.” He decides darkly. 

“It's just a sunburn, Cas.” Dean flinches. There's that fucking nickname again. Castiel lights up of course, and inches closer. He raises a pale, nimble finger, and presses it gently to Dean’s cheek. 

Dean gasps. It's freezing, like Cas had his hands in a bowl of ice all day. It feels crazy good on his burn, though. Dean closes his eyes and sighs in relief. 

Cas replaces his finger with his entire hand and Dean leans into the grasp to relieve the pain and nothing else. He doesn't focus on the possibility that Castiel could probably crush his skull right now if he chose to. He certainly doesn't focus on how boys don't do this. 

It isn't long before the bell rings and the moment shatters. Dean curses when Cas’s hand retreats and the pain returns. 

“I hope it feels better.” Castiel tells him, expression genuine, and wow, how did Dean not notice how long Cas’s lashes were? “Have a nice day, Dean.” 

“What, you're not coming to bio?” Dean asks, annoyed. Is it too much to ask for a normal class with this guy?

“I'm sorry, Dean.” Cas says again, and then he's off, a little too fast to be normal. Dean pointedly does not think about what Sam told him. 

He can't help it when he walks in and sees ‘objection: blood typing’ written in red chalk on the board. 

What the hell has Dean got himself into?

He grumbles beneath his breath but puts on a smile. He likes Biology, right? 

Everything is going fine until Dean has to prick his thumb, and Dean is usually alright with blood so he doesn't know why the minute it starts gushing out he gets woozy. Why is so much coming out? Did he prick himself too hard?

Dean stumbles and catches himself on the edge of the table. Dean grits his teeth. Damnit, Dean. He tells himself. Be a man. A little blood won't hurt you. 

“Dean, are you alright?” Dean faintly hears Mr. Turner say something. “Oh damn, you're blood is thinned. It's getting everywhere- you there, Ava, help Dean to the nurse.” 

Dean groans. No. No way is he about to let a girl help him to the nurse. He forces himself upright, and walks a shaky step forward. 

“I'll go myself, Mr. Turner. I'm fine.” He stresses, and Dean doesn't stick around- he's got this. 

He's outside- and he doesn't remember when he got out here- in a cool drizzle that almost makes him feel better, when suddenly the ground seems to be moving closer. He's jerked back at the last minute, and he feels a column of ice at his back. It feels so good Dean melts into it, and doesn't even care when it picks him up and starts moving him. 

“I did not take you to be a man of weak sensibilities.” Cas says with a smirk in his voice, and when did Cas get here? Dean forces himself to actually pay attention to what's going on, and finds himself tucked into a blessedly cold, alabaster neck.

Oh no. Oh, fuck no. He is not being carried by Castiel Novak a la damsel in distress. If Dean wasn't losing all his blood through his thumb, his blush would be rivaling his sunburn right now. 

“Let me down, asshole!” Dean groans weakly. He tries to hit Castiel, but it’s like hitting a wall. “Ow.” 

“Don't struggle, Dean. Let me help you.” Castiel insists, arms curling protectively around his legs and chest. Dean groans again in protest.

Castiel gets him safely to the nurse, much to Dean’s mortification, and lays him carefully on the blue, rubber bed. Dean hears Cas and the nurse talk, but it's all mumbles. He does pick out something about the pain pills for his head being blood thinners, but they move away before Dean can really glean anything. 

The last thing Dean remembers before passing out is a strong, cold hand brushing the hair off his forehead.

\--

When Dean wakes up again, he's at home in his bed. He’s paralyzed for a moment by heart stopping panic before everything comes back in a cold, green blur and he remembers. Remembers Castiel’s stone embrace, the smell of his neck where his cheek had laid. 

Dean sits up slowly and grabs his head with a grimace. Hello, headache from hell. He looks at his thumb, which has been wrapped in a disgustingly cute pink bandaid. Fuck blood typing, fuck his blood thinning pills, and fuck Castiel Novak. 

Dean has never felt this mad. What kind of a guy carries another guy to safety? A soldier maybe, in war, but this is not war, this is Forks and Castiel Novak is a dumbass. Jesus, Dean needs to beat the shit out of that guy and get it over with. 

He ignores the fact that it's most likely impossible because Castiel might be an actual creature of the night. Dean groans. 

He makes his way downstairs, surprised that John isn't home yet. The microwave clock says it's eight. He should've been home an hour ago. He ignores the anxiety that speeds his heart rate right up. 

Dean of course makes sure his Impala is outside, and decides not to worry about how it got there. He instead makes dinner. They have some chicken breast that's been sitting in the freezer for a while, since John can't cook for shit. Dean makes a note to go shopping this weekend. 

He cuts three breasts into strips and covers them with the crumbs he makes out of the toast leftover from that morning. They're sizzling in a pan when John finally gets home. He lets free a relieved breath. 

“Smells good.” John calls from the door, hovering as he hangs up his coat and holster- complete with gun. If Dean remembers correctly, it's a vintage 1935 .357 Magnum. As far as Dean knows, he's never fired it, but he doesn't doubt that it works. Dean and John have always had a fascination with guns, John because of his days in the Marines, Dean because of his instinctual draw to dangerous things. Which apparently applied to more than just material objects. 

“They're chicken tenders!” Dean yells back, hearing John settle on the couch. Dean flips them before joining him in the living room. John looks exhausted. “Hard day?”

“Had to go to Port Angeles today. Man dead from an animal attack.” John explains through a yawn. “Crazy stuff.” 

Dean hums. He would have guessed that was normal up here. “Well, you should eat and get some rest.” And not ask me about my day. 

“How was your day?” John ponders, following Dean to the kitchen when he leaves under the guise of checking the food. Damnit. 

“Uh, came home early.” Dean admits, conceding to the fact that if Dean doesn't tell him, someone else in this tiny, godforsaken town will. “Apparently those pain pills are blood thinners, so when I pricked my thumb for bio- I uh, I passed out.” 

John chokes around a glass of water. 

“What?” John snaps, the anger Dean remembers from his childhood flashing across his face. It's gone as soon as it’s there. He sighs and closes his eyes, which shine a darker green than Dean’s. Like Spanish moss. “Are you alright?” He finally asks, calm again. His eyes open once more, and the root of his anger is more clear; concern. 

“Yeah, dad. I promise.” Dean swears, and the two share a smile. 

They eat dinner in silence, but it's not an uncomfortable one. It's like the tense buzz that has hung in the air since Dean moved in is finally gone. The tension broken at last, the shards of their shortcomings turned to sand beneath their feet. 

Dean goes to bed late that night; he stays up late to watch the baseball game with his dad. 

 

\--

“Soooo, Dean. Macho macho man.” Ash sings, finger gunning his way towards Dean until he plops clumsily into the chair beside him. The cafeteria unfortunately does not drown out his next words. “This Saturday, Port Ang-e-les. Tuxs for the Prom.” 

Dean pauses around a bite of burger. Prom? What month is it? Dean pulls his cell out of his pocket, and balks at the date. April tenth. Prom is May first. He tries not to think of junior prom, when his mom wouldn't stop taking pictures. 

“Fuck me.” Dean groans. Now he has to get a date, and a tux, and act like a fucking gentleman. Well, he’ll get a lay out of it so, a pro to the cons. Maybe he'll ask one of Ava’s friends, Lisa, the tall, tan one. Yeah, he likes the sound of that. 

“Dude, I know.” Ash assures, gesturing to their mutual friend Andy. “Just think about how much harder it'll be for this dork.” 

“Hey!” The two dissolve into an irritating banter while Dean tries to pull together his schedule for a Port Angeles trip. He remembers the animal attack and winces, but if John had anything to say about it, that's taken care of. He does need to grocery shop, and- 

Dean’s eyes move up slowly, gaze hidden beneath a particularly placed hand over his eyebrow. Through his fingers, Dean observes the Novaks. 

They’re sitting at their usual table, and seem to be laughing at something. It's like a movie still, Anna’s fiery hair vibrant in the fluorescents, Lucifer’s smile charismatic and hard to look away from. Gabriel’s nose is Grecian in profile, the rain spackled window beyond granting it flattering background. Gadreel’s brow is heavy and noble where he glares down at a book, a small smile lifting his lips. 

And Cas. Dean can say what he wants about Lisa Braedon from the volleyball team, and he can think back on the girls in the bikinis, but Castiel is the most beautiful thing Dean Winchester has ever seen. He’s smiling, Jesus Christ, he's smiling, and his teeth are a glittering, impossible white. His straight nose crinkles, and his plump lips fold to reveal pale pink gums. Even from here Dean can see the blue of his eyes, like the Kansas sky in all its phases. 

It's unnatural- Cas’ beauty isn't safe, Cas isn't safe, and Dean wants to know why. He wants, needs an explanation, something that can explain the way Cas pulls him in. The way he can pin Dean like a butterfly to a cork board with just one look. Castiel can make him rethink anything he's ever thought before, with a smile. 

So, Dean will go to Port Angeles with Ash and Andy, he will get a tux, and he will search for information. A book, a link to a website, he’ll even ask around. Anything to find out about the Novaks, or hell, Cold Ones. 

Dean’s done being the shrinking violet, or the blushing schoolgirl on the playground. He isn't going to let something dangerous blindside him. 

He turns back to Ash with a plastic grin. 

“Alright, Ash, I’m in. Let’s go ‘Road-Trip Port Angeles’!” Dean says with a whoop, and the other boys join in with enthusiastic howls.

When Dean’s eyes flutter determinedly to Castiel again, this time he's looking back.

 

\--

Port Angeles is actually kind of awesome. It's raining, of course, but it's full of more people than Forks can fit in one store, and Dean's nothing if not a social guy. He smiles and winks at a girl, who giggles and whispers something to her friends as they pass. 

Ah, Dean's missed malls. 

“I look hella good in red, homies.” Ash groans, thrusting into the mirror with a wicked grin, clad in a latex, crimson tuxedo. Andy places an embarrassed hand over his face, looking the picture of bashful in a dusty pink suit. 

“Hella.” Dean mocks, checking his cell for the time. They've been here for more than hour and he's already picked and bought his own monkey suit. He needs out yesterday, and he's got his eyes on a bookstore he saw rolling in.

“Deano?” Dean snaps back to reality, blinking expectedly at the two other men. That's when he realizes they're doing the same. Oh, they've been talking to him. 

“Uh, I gotta go do a thing. Ash, don't go latex, Andy, you look like a virgin in that- go classic black. It's dapper.” Dean wiggles his brows and grabs his bag, escaping the tuxedo store before they get a chance to respond. 

When he's finally out of the mall, and into the fucking rain, he spots the neon blue sign of the bookstore through the smog and downpour. He crosses the street and scales a block before finally entering the musty warmth only a place full of books can procure. 

Someone distantly greets him and Dean calls back some conversational courtesy.

Dean starts with books about the ancestry of Washington, scanning for the name Novak or something similar, hell, anything that starts with an N. His stomach sinks when he finds the Novak name in an old directory from the late eighteen hundreds. When he doesn't find any other information, he slams it shut and shoves it back in the shelf. 

What should he look for? Vampire books? He’s pretty sure the only shit they have around here are horribly written love stories about abusive sparkly vampires and dumbass teenage girls. 

He can't relate, mostly because he's a dumbass teenage boy. And he's not in love. 

That's why they say us Campbells stick around the Caileuete, to forever protect the tribe from the Cold Ones. 

Dean startles at the memory, Sam’s voice in his head is thoughtful and somehow- even when Dean doesn't realize it- the voice of reason. The Caileuete, they've got to have hundreds of books on the legends of their culture. 

Once Dean knows what he's looking for, it's not hard to find. He pulls a sky blue- ha ha- tomb from the shelf, it's spine reading The Caileuete: Myths and Legends. He flips through the index, and pumps his fist once he finds a chapter dedicated entirely to the Cold Ones.

He doesn't even care that the stupid book is thirty-five bucks. He gets it fucking gift wrapped he's so ecstatic. 

Of course, he rips it open and flips to the Cold One chapter as soon as he's out and beneath the awning outside the bookstore. He's immediately assaulted with a crude illustration. It's a man, with large red eyes and a dripping red mouth. It's the face of a monster, a killer. But it's recognizable. The pale skin, the impeccable features, the dark purple bags beneath its eyes. 

He reads, and Sam’s story is in here, but the author isn't joking around. This is real, and Cold Ones are everywhere, not just a monster of the week for the Caileuete tribe. They're a creature that plague every corner of the Earth, creatures who stalk the shadows and thirst for blood. Cold Ones are vampires, alright. There's no arguing that anymore.

Dean slams the book shut and shoves it into his bag. 

Is Dean really prepared to accept that Castiel is a vampire? A blood sucking nightmare that kills to eat? Dean doesn't buy it. Yeah, Castiel is dangerous, and his family seems suspect, but they've never seemed evil. Not to Dean. He doesn't know what the block here is, he doesn't know why he can't just make the connection. How is Castiel different?

How is Castiel not like every other murderous fucker this book says is out there?

“Fuck!” Dean snaps. He trudges out into the rain again, flushed with anger. He almost expects the drops to sizzle when they hit his cheek. 

He doesn't realize how long he's been walking, caught up in his own twisted thoughts, until he looks over his shoulder and doesn't see the bookstore sign, much less the mall. Shit. Dean kicks a puddle and curses again when the water soaks through his crappy sneaker. 

He hears some yelling not too far away, and his eyes flicker to an alleyway across the street. It's between two bars, so he's not surprised that the source of the yelling is a group of drunk college guys. Great.

He starts walking again, this time faster. Dean's not stupid. He knows he's pretty for a guy, got enough of that shit at parties back in Kansas, when the college guys who were invited got shit faced and thought if the pretty girls didn't put out, maybe the twink would.

Sure, Dean’s filled out more now that he's eighteen. His jaw finally widened, his shoulders got broader. He looks more and more like a grown man everyday, but his lips are full and feminine and those aren't going to change, and neither are his long pale lashes and light eyes. To a drunk guy, his face is blow job heaven. 

Dean hears the men get closer. He keeps walking. 

Eventually, they cross the street, so now they're behind him. Far back enough to not consider it following, but still suspicious. That and Dean doesn't know where the fuck he is.

He can defend himself, though. He was trained by an ex-marine to protect himself and Sam, and he can easily beat a fucker up if he has to. But he can't do shit if he's outnumbered. He keeps his hand tight around his bags, knowing they could be used as a distraction, and a weapon in the book’s case. Like a block of soap in a pillowcase, this book could fuck someone up. 

He turns a corner to try and change things up, to see if the men will keep walking. Except, no, they're following him, and when Dean looks forward again, there’s more of them heading toward him. 

Fuck. They kitty-cornered him. Fuck. Fuck. This is how his mom died, alone, outnumbered, God no.

Calm down, Dean. He tells himself. You can get out of this. 

“Hey, babyface.” One of them whistles, pink polo shirt and cargo shorts covered in booze and wing sauce. Fucking disgusting. 

“Hey, fuckface.” Dean barks back, flashing them a smile that drips with annoyed charisma. The men guffaw and clink their beer bottles together. They're all fit, able-bodied. This is going to be harder than Dean thought. 

“C’mon now, pretty boy, we’re just trying to be your friend!” Another one whines, stumbling forward, hand reaching out to touch. Bad idea. 

Dean swings his free arm out, fingers curling flat and the ball of his palm jutting out. He brings it back quick and hard against the man’s forearm, sending it flying out of the way, and leaving the guy disoriented. It gives him the perfect opportunity to grab him by the ears and bring his face violently to Dean’s knee. 

His nose breaks with an audible crack and Dean grins. Until the rest of them swarm around Dean, their horny attitudes replaced with pissed off ones. 

Dean’s throwing the guy back and getting ready to start swinging when pale blue car lights wash over them starkly. They keep getting closer until a black Volvo crawls out of the night like a panther in pursuit of prey. It's going a speed that’s definitely illegal and it's not stopping. 

Somehow, the men stumble out of the way in their drunken state but Dean isn't fast enough. What is it with him and getting hit by cars? 

Before it hits him, however, the Volvo comes to a screeching halt, the smell of burnt rubber rising heavily into the air. Dean blinks, the shock of the whole evening hitting him all at once, tears spilling down his cheeks without consent. 

“What the fuck?” Dean bursts, throwing his arms out. 

Then Castiel Novak gets out of the car. Okay, alright, that's enough. 

Dean opens his mouth to give Novak a stern dressing down for being the cherry on top of his seriously fucked up night, but Cas walks right past him.

He instead grabs the lapels of one the men’s jacket, and throws him ten feet through the air. He lands with a groan, and either out of fear or concern, the other assholes run after him. 

Castiel turns around again, and Dean stumbles back instinctively, scared shitless at the sight of Cas. His face is warped with such an acute rage that his eyes lick like blue flame in their sockets and his teeth are bared wide. The wind blows his tan trench coat back, and Dean stupidly thinks of wings. 

Castiel is anything but an angel right now. 

“Get in the car.” Castiel demands, and Dean drops his jaw to snap back, but Castiel silences him with a look. Fine. Dean will get in the car, but only because it's cold. Not because Cas told him to.

Cas is in the car and speeding off faster than Dean can settle into the seat and set his bags down between his feet. He chokes softly on sobs, the image of his mother at the morgue flitting to the surface of his mind. 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks forcefully, eyes full of flame raking him over. Dean imagines that the leather of his jacket is smoking. “Their thoughts said otherwise, I should go back and-,”

“Cas, I’m fine but-,” Dean’s eyes catch the speedometer rapidly approaching one hundred. “-what the fuck, would you slow down?” He gulps.

“I can’t, Dean!” Castiel stresses, an almost panicky edge to his tone. “Distract me.” 

Dean fumbles for something to distract Castiel from driving them into a brick wall or a tree at a billion miles an hour. 

“Put your damn seatbelt on!” Dean growls, gesticulating wildly. Castiel gives a strained chuckle. 

“Put yours on.” He gripes back, and Dean scoffs.

What the fuck. Honestly, just what the fuck has Dean’s life become? Dangerous situations, a shining white knight? Is Washington just one big hidden fairytale land? He wipes his tears away angrily. 

Who is Castiel to feel a need to keep saving Dean? He's supposed to be a hissing, bloodthirsty Dracula, but not only is he not Transylvanian, he's a good person. 

“Are you hungry?” Castiel asks abruptly, eyes once again on him and not the road. They're a faint spark now, no longer a roar. Dean snorts at the audacity of the question, but his stomach betrays him with a loud growl.

“I guess.” Dean concedes, and before the last ‘s’ sound leaves his mouth, Castiel is u-turning violently and speeding down the other way to Port Angeles. 

That's when Dean remembers his friends. 

“Sonovabitch!” Dean exclaims, punching the dash. Castiel startles, and reaches a tentative hand out but stops himself half way. 

“What is it, are you hurt?” Castiel questions, the anger back now and his voice frantic. Dean rolls his eyes.

“No, Cas, Jesus! Why do you even care?” Dean shouts, officially irritated. Castiel rolls his eyes right back and doesn't answer. Fine. “I left my friends back in Port Angeles, we were gonna get some friggin Italian.” 

“I am not Jesus.” Cas sighs, brows furrowing. Dean groans and slumps further into the seat.

Dean doesn't say anything until they're back in the city, and even then he just grits out what the restaurant’s called. Castiel deals with him like he's sullen toddler, and yeah Dean’s sullen, but he's eighteen years old, damnit. He's an adult.

They're pulling into the parking lot outside the restaurant just as Ash and Andy are sauntering out. Dean quickly gets out of the car and runs over to them. The men look guilty. 

“Hey, sorry, Deano. We tried to wait, but our stomachs started eating themselves.” Andy frowns, eyeing Castiel distrustfully when he walks up behind Dean. 

“It's my own damn fault for getting lost and making you wait.” Dean concedes, stuffing his hands into his pockets and eyeing the ground. Ash sets a hand on his shoulder and Dean looks up again.

“No biggie, muchacho. Looks like Big Daddy Novak saved the day. Still need a ride home?” Ash asks, the kindness in his eyes a strange contrast to his grubby exterior. Dean doesn't deserve people like this in his life. None of them. 

Dean goes to tell him yes, but Castiel beats him to it. 

“Dean hasn't eaten. We’ll eat here, then I'll get him home. Good plan?” Castiel asks Ash, but Dean’s smart enough to know that he's actually asking Dean himself. 

“Sounds like a party!” Ash agrees, jingling the keys to his red clunker truck. “In that case we gotta bolt, Andy here has a midnight curfew.”

“Peachy.” Dean sighs, and waves as his friends cross the street to the truck. 

This leaves him alone with Dracula. Castiel gestures to the restaurant and Dean stomps up the stairs, Castiel at his heels. Cas, however, is somehow ahead of him to open to door.

“Thanks.” Dean snarls, and stands stubbornly off to the side while Castiel charms them a table. Well, booth, but it's shadowed and far away from everyone else so, Dean can deal. 

The waitress is a cute blonde, but she's only got eyes for Castiel. Not surprising, Dean is the used end of the Q-Tip here. 

“What can I get you to drink, honey?” She asks Cas, who blinks confusedly at her. 

“Nothing, thank you.” He says seriously, but gestures to Dean. “Dean would like something.” 

“Dr. Pepper.” Dean blurts, suddenly aware of his thirst. He hasn't realized how parched he is. Fighting off douchebags does that to you. The lady gives him an unimpressed look and walks off. 

“Are you sure you're alright, Dean? You were crying.” Cas asks, leaning slightly over the table. Dean is easily grabbed by his gaze and held tight. 

“Cas.” Dean sighs. “How'd you know I was here?” 

Castiel looks shameful, his night sky eyes drooping to the tabletop. His pale fingers rap the table in a rhythm, like fingers on a piano. Dean furrows his brow, and waits. 

“I heard you were going to Port Angeles. I followed.” Castiel explains, eyes lifting again through feathery lashes.

Dean wants to feel disgusted or creeped out, or even angry. That's how someone is supposed to feel when a strange person stalks them. Dean, however, feels a single butterfly spread its wings, and at last fly through the cavern of his stomach. 

“Why?” Dean asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. It's hard to come to terms with the fact that something, something foreign is happening to Dean’s body, and that it all has to do with Cas. 

Castiel finally breaches the small space between them, and hooks a frigid finger around one of Dean’s. The butterfly spazzes out, and Dean finally meets Cas’ eyes. They're such a warm, liquid blue, the bags beneath crescents of magenta. Cas’ soul is in his eyes, and it is good. Not evil, not malicious, not belonging to a monster. 

There it is. That's the difference! The reason Dean can't make the obvious connection. Every picture and story he's heard of the Cold Ones have one thing in common. Scarlet eyes, like the human blood they drink. Why are Castiel’s so blue? 

“I have become very protective of you, Dean.” Castiel says at last, and he opens his mouth to say more, but the waitress is back. They rip their hands back to their chests, and Dean smiles shakily at the uninterested woman. She winks at Cas as she sets down Dean’s soda, before leaving with a swing to her hips. Dean doesn't even watch. 

Dean gulps his soda down, eyes curling back at the sweet syrup and cold carbonation. 

”Okay, new question.” Dean breathes as soon as he's done, Castiel’s squint heavy on his face. “You said somethin earlier, about those guys’ thoughts.”

Castiel sighs, and traces the edge of the table. He seems to be contemplating something important, brows crumpling his otherwise smooth forehead. He comes to a decision, a resigned edge deepening his frown. 

“I can read minds.” Castiel says simply, eyes rolling. Like he doesn't even believe himself. Dean scoffs. 

“Not possible, Cas.” Dean echoes, and Castiel chuckles. Dean actually doesn't doubt that Cas can read minds, add it to the rest of his inhuman qualities, but Dean wants proof. He wants a little truth in his life, there isn't enough lately. 

“The waitress thinks I am ‘cute’. She's mad because she thinks we're on a date, so she's just now bothering to come take our order.” Castiel promises, all the while looking directly at Dean. Then the waitress comes around the corner behind Cas so there's no way he saw her coming. She's glaring at them until she sees Dean looking. She forces a dazzling smile. 

“What can I get you to eat, sugar?” She asks Cas, and Dean can't stop himself from glaring. She is so not getting a tip. Again, Cas dissuades her and instead encourages her to ask Dean. Dean grumpily opens the menu and grumbles the first thing he sees.

Once she's gone again, Castiel intensely hooks Dean’s gaze, reeling him in like a fish out of water. 

“Possible.” Cas smiles, catching a drop of condensation from Dean’s empty glass. He's looking at Dean knowingly, like he's aware of the cogs turning in his head at a rapid and confusing pace. Dean deflates, conceding.

“Fine.” Dean huffs. “I'm not even surprised. Fricken Clark Kent over here. Do you have laser eyes, too? What am I thinking, huh?” Dean forces the image of Castiel in spandex out of his head with a blush. Stupid, stupid. 

Castiel’s face grows cloudy. “You are the exception, my kryptonite if you will.”

Laughter bubbles out of Dean at the reference and Castiel gives one of his wide, gummy smiles at the sound. Dean blushes even darker. Jesus, it's such a beautiful smile. 

“What do you mean?” Dean gripes. “Is somethin wrong with my head?”

Castiel shakes his head, his dark hair bouncing. It's always very messy; it's perhaps the only thing about him that isn't perfect. After his eyes, it's the most attractive thing about him. To Dean, anyway. 

Yeah. He’s accepted it. Dean's attracted to Cas. No point denying it, at least in the privacy of his own head. Which evidentially remains intact. 

“I can hear thoughts and you're worried that there is something wrong with you?” Castiel scoffs, voice a deep timber that makes Dean’s fingers twitch. Dean shrugs, and looks away. It's not like there's anything right with him. 

Castiel takes his hand and Dean startles at the absolute cold of his skin. He stares at their intertwined fingers, Castiel’s like piano tiles, long and ivory, and Dean’s dark and freckled; kissed by the sun. He decides not to pull away, not from Castiel. Never. 

Dean closes his eyes and sighs. He's so fucked. 

The quiet moment is interrupted by the waitress, who sets down a large, heaping plate of spaghetti that steams and fills the air with an aroma that has Dean’s mouth watering. He needs to fuck those noodles up, yesterday. 

This time, Castiel removes his hand slowly, and Dean doesn't really give a fuck at this point. No one knows Dean here. 

Dean scarfs the food down so fast his stomach aches afterward, but holy shit was he hungry. He sets the fork down on the plate with a metallic clatter and groans satedly. 

He digs around for his wallet, which he finds deep in the folds of his back pocket, damp from rain and worse for wear. He begins forking out what change he has left when Castiel makes a rumble of protest.

“No, Dean. Let me.” Castiel proposes, setting a silver credit card on the table. Why is Dean even surprised? He did just ride in the guy’s flashy Volvo. Not to mention the clothes Cas wears, they're not flashy but they're undoubtedly expensive. Dean suddenly feels underdressed in his department store bought jeans and flannel. 

Dean looks down pitifully at his five dollar bill, and blushes pink. He shoves it back into his wallet and hides that in his pocket again. Wow, that's not embarrassing at all. 

“I owe you one, Cas.” He tells him determinedly. Cas smiles and nods placently, and Dean ignores the fact that Cas is probably only humoring him. Stupid rich ass vampires and their beautiful privilege. 

Once they've paid, and decidedly not tipped the waitress- Dean sticks his tongue out at her when she looks up, appalled- they go back to the Volvo. Inside is chilly, but dry, and Dean settles into the familiar seat. It's more relaxed than the last time they got in the car, that's for damn sure. Castiel has them pulled out and on the highway in less than a moment, the small red speedometer rising with every breath.

“Why the hell do you go so fast?” Dean asks, reaching for the heat dial. He cranks it, moaning when his damp clothing is hit with blissful warmth. Castiel makes a small, strangled noise and goes faster.

“The same reason you continue to be around me.” Castiel admits quietly, cerulean eyes fluttering his way. Dean looks out the window, brows furrowing. If Dean stares back he’ll never stop. Is that a vampire thing, or a Cas thing? 

“Next time, we're taking my car.” Dean grins, changing the subject because goddamnit, he just wants a single conversation that doesn't secretly revolve around Castiel’s affliction. 

“The 1967 Chevy Impala.” Cas says fondly. Dean lights up at that, that damned butterfly bouncing around his stomach like a bullet in a tin can. “It's a fine model, sturdy. I'm glad for it, you're safer in it than this Volvo.” 

“Hell yeah I am. This little plastic and cheap metal piece of shit is a lego compared to my Baby.” Dean laughs, and a bright, gummy smile graces Cas’ face at the sound. Dean blushes because, Jesus Christ, it's beautiful. Cas is something peeled from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and brought to life. 

Why the hell is he interested in Dean? 

The rest of the trip is quiet, until Cas turns on the radio and The Beatles begin playing. Dean would fall asleep to Paul’s crooning if it wasn't for the lightning like tension playing over his bones. It’s always like that around Cas, like Dean has to sneeze but can't. It's as fucking annoying as it is exciting. 

He finally parks behind the Impala, and it's suddenly very quiet. The music is gone and the purr of the Volvo has dissipated. All that remains is the soft patter of rain and wind outside the car. 

“Cas.” Dean begins, biting his lip. He needs to say it. They need to talk about it. It's gonna drive Dean fricken crazy if he doesn't just spit it the fuck out. “My brother lives on the reservation.”

“Yes.” Castiel agrees. “So you mentioned last Friday.” He seems relaxed, like he trusts Dean’s presence. Dean hates to break that. 

“He lives with our grandfather, Samuel Campbell.” Dean breathes, and at once, Castiel grows tense. Like a tuned guitar string. Dean forces himself to inhale again. “And when I visited, I uh, mentioned you. That I’d invited you.” 

“I suppose your brother told you his thoughts on that.” Castiel says through his teeth. Dean finally meets his eyes again, and they flicker like torch flame. Dean wants to touch, despite the inevitably of getting burned. 

“Yeah, he did. Told me about the reason Campbells protect the Caileuete.” Dean explains bravely, squaring his shoulders and looking at Castiel with his own hot gaze. He isn't scared of Cas. That's the last thing he is. “I even heard about the Cold Ones.” 

Castiel tears his face away, which is now carefully blank, and he clenches stone white fingers around the steering wheel. Dean hears it creak. 

“So, I looked them up. Did some research. They're fast, cold, strong. They're vampires, I guess. Blood-suckers.” Dean continues, throwing the words at Cas. Hoping he'll just admit it and spill. Tell him what the hell he wants with Dean. To drink his blood? To kiss him? To hold him? “They all have red eyes.”

Castiel’s eyes are blue when they stare back at him. They're full of a sadness and loneliness that has Dean blurting out the statement that’s gonna change his life for pretty much forever. 

“And if your pale ass is a vampire, I really don't give a shit. Doesn't matter to me.” Dean tells him firmly, and Castiel’s face morphs into a raw surprise. Like he couldn't imagine anything but disgust, or terror in the face of a revelation like this. Until Dean. 

“What if I hurt you, Dean? What if I can't help myself like the first time?” Castiel asks desperately, eyes wide with emotion. It's the most vulnerable Dean’s ever seen him. Dean knows he's referring to the first time they met, in Microbiology. Cas’ eyes had been black and full of what Dean recognizes now as hunger. 

“I trust you.” Dean says into the dark. 

“I am different, Dean. I do not-, I drink…,” Castiel shakes his head. “I have to go. Goodnight, Dean.” 

Dean sighs, and opens his car door. Just as he's about to close the door, bags in hand, Castiel grabs his free wrist. He pulls Dean swiftly inside again, his strength unparalleled. Dean can't hardly breathe this fucking close to Cas’ face. He smells so good, like an apple pie or something else as sweet. Dean wants to lick the taste of it out of his mouth. 

Wow, gay. 

Dean blushes as Castiel’s eyes rake over his face. Cas’ lashes are dark and flutter against the soft, lilac bags beneath his eyes. Not red. Not red. 

“I will see you tomorrow.” Castiel says at last, voice entering Dean somehow and layering onto his bones like armor. Silvery, sparkling armor. He lets go, and Dean slowly exits the car, in a fucking transe. Cas peals out of the driveway, and Dean watches him disappear down the road. 

As Dean stands there, rain slowly soaking him through, he becomes aware of three facts. One; Cas is a vampire. Two; a part of him, and who knows how big, jones for Dean’s blood. Three; Dean’s unconditionally and irrevocably fucked. 

He's gone and fallen in love with him.


	4. Tremble for my Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard one for me! Enjoy!

Tremble for my Beloved   
\--

When Dean wakes up the next morning, he's almost positive all of last night was a dream. He looks down at his wrist where Cas had grabbed it, and he brings it to his face. Cinnamon, it smells like cinnamon. It hadn't been a dream. Dean smiles small, and secretive, and allows the butterfly to fly unrestricted for just a moment. 

While he's showering, Dean weighs the pros and cons to feeling this way about a man. He's never been with one, that's for fucking sure. And he still likes women, hell, sex with that reservation girl had been amazing. 

Dean slams his hand against the tiled wall. Why is everything so goddamn confusing? Is it because Castiel’s a vampire, and he has some fast-acting love power? Or is Dean really in love with him? Jesus, he doesn't even know what love is. 

“Fuck.” He growls into the steaming air. 

The rest of his morning routine is filled with slamming doors and snappish movements. He doesn't bother eating breakfast because fuck it, and he leaves the house with a face red with rage and hair not yet brushed and still wet. 

Sitting in his driveway is a gleaming black Volvo. 

“Sonovabitch!” Dean yells, and kicks a gnome outside his front door. Fucking stalker vampires and their good intentions. Dean stomps towards the car and throws the car door open with a scowl. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He growls, and Castiel smiles sheepishly up at him. He's so good. Everything about him radiates fluffy, adorable, murderous nightmare.

Dean gets in the damn car. 

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel greets softly, and now that Dean is aware of it, the whole car smells of Cas. Cinnamon and sweet, spicy but familiar. Like his mom’s pies. 

“Mornin, Cas.” Dean grunts, and crosses his arms in a slump. Cas chuckles and starts driving. Surprise, surprise, they’re at the school in half the time it takes Dean and he speeds. They pull in next to a bright red convertible, one Dean’s never seen here before, but one he can appreciate. He whistles low as he carefully gets out of the Volvo. 

“Anna’s. They had to take it because I did not drive them this morning.” Castiel explains, coming round to Dean. He grabs Dean’s bag from the floorboard and closes the door. 

“Why?” Dean asks, hand gently brushing across the powerful rump of the BMW. “This is totally inconspicuous.” Dean snorts, and Castiel purses his lips to hide a smile. Dean wishes he'd just fucking do it. 

“Yes, well, we like to go fast.” Castiel tells him, and ah. Dean finally gets it. He grins and looks down at Castiel mischievously. 

“Shit, I oughta take you for a drive in Baby.” He plans, and Dean grimaces once he realizes that it sounds like he's asking Cas out. Castiel just smiles softly, and hands him his bag. Dean takes it grumpily, remembering he's supposed to be mad, and stomps off. 

“Dean, wait, perhaps you can drive me to a place I'd like to show you.” Dean stops and turns to Cas, who he knows is right beside him. Dean wants to reach out and touch the purple bags beneath his eyes. He doesn't. 

“Where at?” Dean asks, intrigued. Maybe he doesn't mind going on a date with Cas. Maybe he wants to. He finds himself blushing. 

“Just outside of Seattle.” Cas continues, grinning. Finally. All of Dean’s worries disappear at the sight, and all he can think about is that smile. He smiles back, and finds himself agreeing without a second thought. 

“Yeah, okay. Next weekend.” 

Castiel grins all the wider, and they continue walking to the building. As soon as they're inside, they have to say goodbye. Dean fucking dreads it. 

“All my friends are gonna know by now, that we were together last night. What do I even tell em?” Dean asks, hands fidgeting until he adjusts Cas’ tie. It's his usual blue one, tucked into the collar of a cream button down today. Dean knows he's blushing; he's practically asking Cas what they are. Where this is going.

Castiel stills Dean’s hands with his own. “Tell them what you feel is right. I will be listening, and I will tell you if I feel the same.” He tells him simply. Dean swallows and nods like that didn't send him into a small panic. He even puts on a front, one that's thick with bravado and straight guy charm.

“Alright, see ya, Cas.” He winks, and saunters off. He feels Cas’ eyes on him until he disappears behind a corner. 

\--

“So let me get this straight. You had dinner with Castiel Novak. Like a date dinner? I didn't even know you were gay!” Ava looks disappointed and glares down at their Trig homework. Dean hasn't actually said anything yet so he just blinks at her and tries to put together an acceptable answer. He doesn't think about Castiel listening to this conversation, somewhere in this godforsaken place. 

“Um. I'm not gay, I like tits.” Dean says, making sure both Ava and Castiel know. Because he does. He’s still attracted to women. But. “Castiel is the only exception.”

Ava gapes. Dean smirks a little at her reaction and shrugs. “Are you going out?” She splutters, and Dean sucks in a breath. This is the moment of truth.

Is that what Dean wants? Dean thinks of a life without Cas’ blue eyes and soft smiles. It's a bleak and sad one that picks raw at something blooming wide in Dean’s chest. Yeah, Dean wants Cas in his life. He wants to kiss Cas’ gummy grin, and run his hands through his stupid messy hair. Dean wants to make Cas fall apart. 

“Yeah, I guess we are. I think I might like him too fucking much, actually, more than he likes me probably.” He tells her with a scowl and Ava squeezes his wrist excitedly. 

“Still! That's amazing! You deserve something happy in your life, Dean. Let it fucking happen.” Ava laughs, and Dean feels warmth surround him and fill his head and he thinks he might know what love is, after all. 

He wishes his Mom was alive for this. 

He and Ava walk to lunch together, and she giggles when she sees Castiel waiting for Dean at an empty table. Dean blushes and rolls his eyes. 

He says goodbye to Ava and puts on a brave face as he walks to the table. He plops into the chair beside Castiel and glares at him. Castiel blinks at him, something smug about him. 

“Well?” Dean asks, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. He tongues at it, and he notices the way Cas’ pupils dilate and focus on his lip. A shiver rolls down Dean’s spine and it's not a scared one. It's an excited one. Dean leans closer to Cas, and the other man does the same, eyes flickering dangerously in the grey-green sunlight. 

“You are wrong, Dean.” Castiel says quietly, breath washing across Dean’s face. Dean rakes his eyes over Cas’ and gasps for air. “You could never feel more for me than I for you.” 

“Not possible, Cas.” Dean reiterates, and Castiel reaches forward to brush his cold fingers across Dean’s cheek.

“Your freckles.” Cas sighs, and Dean huffs. He really doesn't understand why the fuck Castiel wants him. Wants him like this. Dean’s not sure why he wants Cas, only that he does. It's obvious he can't refuse him, so it doesn't matter. “Why are you not afraid me? You're so calm. Cool.” 

Dean closes his eyes. “I know evil, Cas. I know wrongness. You're not that, okay? I trust you.” He opens his eyes again, and he hears Cas’ breath catch in his throat. 

“Have I ever told you that your eyes are extraordinary?” Castiel whispers. “Of all the green here, I've never seen a shade like it.” 

Dean’s throat closes and he shudders. 

“Ditto, Cas.” 

Cas pulls back and takes a grounding breath. Do vampires even need to breathe? Dean almost follows him, and catches himself with a growl. He's never been like this with anyone before, never acted like this. He pinches himself. It helps a little, to bring him back to reality. Cas does that does to him, pulls him out of real life, throws him into a world Dean doesn't recognize. 

“You smell very good, Dean.” Cas says shakily, and he grips the lunch table so hard it bends and creaks. Dean grimaces and licks at the blood gathered on his bottom lip. That whole time, Cas had been so close to it. So easy to reach out and bite and take, and he hadn't. 

“When you went on that hunting trip.” Dean begins randomly, trying to pull Cas from that train of thought. It has to be fucking torture. “You were hunting for…?”

Cas chuckles, and some of the tension leaks from his wide shoulders. “Elk. They are my favorite.” 

Suddenly everything makes sense. Dean sneezes. 

“Bless you.” Cas tells him, and Dean starts laughing. 

“You drink animal blood, that's why your eyes aren't red.” Dean says, relieved. Cas nods, seemingly shocked. 

“Observant.” Cas grins. “My father lives a specific lifestyle, and we all followed one way or another.” He explains. “Because we prefer animals of the Cervidae family, mine, my father’s, and Lucifer’s eyes are blue after we feed.” 

“Like, strictly deer?” Dean wonders, and Castiel shakes his head with a thoughtful smile. 

“Not just deer, but mostly. Like how a human’s heart is affected by eating too much red meat.” He turns around to gesture to his old table, where his siblings are staring at the both of them. Creepy much. Dean looks away and back at Cas. “Now, Lucifer, he loves moose. Goes far into Canada for the large ones.”

Dean can't believe he's hearing the diet patterns of a vampire named Lucifer. He blinks down at his hands and tries hard not to freak the fuck out. 

“What about Gabriel?” Dean asks, remembering clearly the man’s twinkling golden eyes, crazy bright against his bloodless skin. Castiel again seems impressed by Dean’s astuteness. Dean smirks. He isn't just brawn. Bout time Castiel knows it. 

“Likes mountain lion.” Cas hums. “Anna’s and Gadreel’s are dark green, they enjoy bear.” 

Dean’s just glad he stumbled across the only vampire family out there that doesn't drink human blood. He imagines how beautiful, how fucking strong Castiel is mid-hunt, now that Dean allows himself to. It must be insane. 

“I want to see it. I wanna see you hunt, I bet it's pretty fucking different from how I do it.” Dean tells him, but he immediately regrets it when he sees how dark Castiel’s face becomes. 

“You will never see that.” Cas tells him, and that's the end of it. “I would die before I put you in such a dangerous position.” 

Dean feels his soul catch on fire. Goddamn. That's when he looks around, and realizes that they're the only ones left in the cafeteria. Fuck, they're late. Jesus, Castiel takes him so far away from fucking Forks.

“C’mon, Cas.”

“Of course, Dean.”

\-- 

 

This week in Microbiology they're watching a movie, and as soon as the lights go out and the TV comes on, it's like a live wire falls right between Dean and Castiel. Dean clenches his fists so hard it hurts, trying to keep himself from reaching out and grabbing himself a handful of cold, impenetrable skin. When he looks at Castiel, he sees with a surprised snort that one of the table’s legs has hand prints dug into it’s surface. Complete with Cas’ hands still around it. 

Every day of Bio is like this, until Friday when the movie finally wraps up. Dean lets out a shaky breath, relieved and even a little sad. He’s gonna miss sexy TV dark time. 

“I’d like to take you home today.” Cas says as he walks Dean to gym. That'd be gentlemanly if it wasn't for Castiel doing that exact thing every other day of the week. 

“Sure, Cas.” Dean grumbles. “Why ask?” 

Castiel ticks his head to the side, like a confused bird. It's fucking cute. Dean pinches himself again. 

“I’d like to ask you my own questions.” He explains softly, voice deep. Dean nods, entranced. He shakes himself out of it and rolls his eyes. 

“Alright. Gotta go, Cas.” Dean waves as he begins walking off, and wow, he hates to walk away from him. 

“Dean!” Dean’s setting his bags and shit down so he can remove his flannel for class. It's Becky, and she looks pissed off. Dean winces for himself, before forcing a smile. 

“What's up, Becky?” He asks, rubbing his arms once he’s just in his t-shirt. You'd think this fucking school would have better insulation. 

“First of all, you're gay? Second of all, you're dating Castiel Novak?” She nearly screeches. Dean glares at Ava over Becky’s shoulder, and she shrugs guiltily. Fuck me. Great, not only is Dean the half-orphaned new kid, now he's fucking gay. 

“I'm not gay, Becky. Cas is just- an exception. An anomaly, okay?” He stresses, and Becky pouts. 

“You're bi, then?” She asks, confused. Dean supposes he is. 

“Yeah, sure.” He dismisses. Trying to walk away and join Ava for whatever the hell they’re doing today. Becky hops after him, ashy hair swinging. 

“You need to be careful, Dean. Novak, he looks at you like you’re his next meal.” Becky warns, and Dean actually laughs at that. If only she knew. 

“Becky, I’m a big boy. I can handle it.” 

Gym doesn't end soon enough. Dean's out of there before Becky or Ava get a chance to interrogate him again, running out of the building with his flannel only half on. What is it with those women? Jesus. 

He makes it to the Volvo and gets inside quickly, too familiar with the situation now to give a fuck about waiting. Besides, Cas happens to already be inside. “Hello, Dean.” 

“Hey, Cas.” Dean sighs, slipping his arm into the empty sleeve. He meets Cas’ eyes finally, and his heart thumps hard in his chest. Dean will never get used to that fucking look. Like Cas really does want to eat him. At this point, Dean can't say with certainty that he wouldn't let him. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” 

“Oh yes, Becky.” Castiel hums, annoyed. Dean halts in the process of putting his seatbelt on. “She is irritating.”

“Cas, how'd you know about that?” Dean asks, even if he has a pretty good idea. And it kinda pisses him off. “Were you fucking spying on me?”

Cas has the decency to look contrite. “I was bored.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Don't do that. It's creepy, and I don't know-,” Dean pulls a word out of his ass. “Intrusive. Personal space is key, Cas.” 

Cas nods, and starts the car stoically. Dean grabs his shoulder as they pull out, and squeezes. Castiel relaxes. 

They park behind the Impala, which Dean mourns more and more everyday. He stares at it longingly and decides he can't wait to get Castiel inside it. To see two of some of his favorite things in one place, together. Dean’s getting a little teary eyed thinking about. Only thing missing is Sam. 

“First question.” Cas begins, and Dean remembers their conversation from before. Dean settles contently into the Volvo’s seat. “What is your favorite color?”

“Yellow.” Dean responds without thinking, blades of pale sunlight slicing across Cas’ face. It's so beautiful it’s almost as if Cas is glittering. Cas hums, and asks another question.

“What's your favorite book?”

“Anything Vonnegut.” 

And so it goes for hours. It isn't until Cas asks about Dean’s mother that he pauses. 

“What about her?” Dean asks gruffly, feeling himself grow tense, tight like a bow, the arrow ready to be released. Castiel watches him worriedly, but doesn't retract the question. 

“What was she like?” He asks quietly, voice gentle. Dean bites his lip and closes his eyes. He imagines her as he begins talking. Her hair shines gold in the sun leaking through the kitchen window, the sweat on her brow gleams as she works over the stove. 

“She was badass. Used to be a cop on the reservation when she met my Dad. He was really the only quick decision she ever made. She had a good head on her shoulders, smart, sharp as a damn tack.” Dean thinks of all the lessons she taught him, about danger, life, love. “She had me and Sam after she quit the force. She couldn't handle the boredom. She left John, took us to Kansas.

She could cook, hell yeah she could cook.” Dean can smell her apple pies in the cinnamon that hangs heavy around Cas. “Made the best pie. She was the nicest, warmest, most talented fucking woman I have ever and will ever know.” Dean’s voice cracks and he looks outside the window at his house, it's blue, with yellow shutters. Like the sunny, cloudless day Mary never stopped looking for. 

“I wish I could have known her.” Castiel says, breaking the fragile quiet. Dean smiles at him, and aches to touch the other man’s frown. To soften it. Cas has made Dean such a fucking softy. He’s never told anyone about his mother, at least not here in Forks. Once again, Castiel proves to be the ultimate exception. “What's your favorite gemstone?”

Dean laughs at the abrupt shift in the atmosphere, and answers when an easy grin. “Sapphire.” 

Castiel scrunches his nose and squints at Dean. “Why?”

Dean blushes and looks away in attempt to keep his stoic manliness intact. “They remind me of your eyes.” 

Dean isn't watching, so he startles when Castiel’s index finger runs over the length of Dean’s nose, rising when he goes over the bump. He'd broken it in eighth grade. He lets loose a shaky breath. 

“Mine are peridot.” Castiel replies. 

The moment is interrupted by the familiar growl of Bobby’s truck coming around the street. Castiel looks behind them and purses his lips, suddenly uncomfortable. He moves closer to Dean, like he wants to shield him from whatever’s coming. Dean follows his gaze and grins at the sight of Bobby and Sam. 

“Sammy!” Dean exclaims. He turns to Cas, excited at the prospect of the two meeting. However, Cas starts the car and looks back at Dean mournfully. Dean looks confusedly back at Bobby, and sees the older man’s angered expression. Fuck. 

Looks like Dean’s not the only one who believes in the Cold Ones. 

\--

“What's Bobby’s problem?” Sam asks, shoveling the macaroni and cheese Dean reheated into his sasquatch mouth. Dean rolls his eyes and stabs a piece of fish with his fork. Aforementioned Uncle has been looking at Dean all evening with unbearable disappointment. Dean's on the wrong side of depressed about it. 

“That was Castiel Novak in the Volvo.” Dean explains, watching Sam cautiously. The boy snorts and has to catch a cheesy noodle that makes a bid for freedom. It gets shoved right back into his mouth. Nasty kid. 

“Oh, then he thinks you're about to get sucked dry.” Sam says seriously, and the two blink at each other. Sam blushes and stutters to fix himself. “Blood-wise, blood-wise.” 

Dean laughs breathlessly, and throws a stray green bean at Sam, whose cheeks burn just like Dean’s do. It's nice to be the one inflicting it for once. 

“Sure thing, Sammy.” Dean chuckles, and Sam slams his forehead onto the table. 

“Damn.” He mutters, and Dean wars with himself over whether or not to tell Sam why he was in the car with Castiel Novak at all.

“I think I'm dating him.” Dean admits, and Sam raises his head with a snap. He winces and rubs at a place on his neck. 

“Ow! What do you mean, think?” Sam exclaims. “Dean, I always knew- some part of you had to like boys-, I mean..,” Sam looks guilty when Dean starts glaring. How could Sam know that Dean somehow liked dick before he did? “I know you, Dean, better than you know yourself, sometimes.” 

Dean doesn't doubt it. Before they moved apart last year, the brothers had lived out of each other's pockets. Dean certainly knows Sam better than anyone. But how could Sam predict this? Dean would never have guessed in a million fucking years that he'd get a heart boner for a male, nighttime monster. 

“I like him. A lot.” Dean says stiltedly, and he looks out the window behind Sam. As usual, the view is wet and green, but the blue of the sky peeks through heavy, black clouds and it reminds Dean of Castiel. He smiles softly before looking back at Sam, who looks pleased.

“As long as you’re happy, Dean.” Sam says simply, and he continues eating. Oh. Dean fiddles with his fork, before picking it up and following suit. Dean isn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't that. Whatever, Dean’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“You believe those myths about the Novaks?” Dean asks absently, and Sam shrugs. 

“Course not. That stuff isn't real, Dean.” Sam tells him with a slightly condescending roll of his eyes. It doesn't bother Dean because that means Sam is safe. It means he won't be near any of them anytime soon. Dean grins, his cheeks full with food and puffed outwards. Sam laughs and shakes his head. 

The rest of the night is easy, sans Bobby’s concerned glances. Eventually dinner is eaten and the game watched, and Sam and Bobby peal out of the driveway and back in the direction of the reservation. 

That night when Dean goes to bed, he dreams of white demons and furred creatures with familiar hazel-blue eyes. 

\--

“You have one sibling, Sam?” Castiel asks, and Dean swallows a thick bite of pizza before answering. Cas always had the best timing. 

“Yeah, Sammy. He's the only one.” Dean sighs. “Dad dated a woman once, who had a kid, Adam. We hung out a couple of summers before that simmered out.” 

“You haven't heard from him?” Castiel asks, always so concerned. Dean snorts and shoves down another bite of pizza. 

“Nah, it was a nasty breakup. My dad, he never got over my mom.” Dean admits quietly. Dean doesn't think he ever will either. “What about your freaky brothers and sisters?” 

Castiel smiles fondly, nose crinkling and everything. Dean blushes, astonished. “Would you like to meet them, tonight?”

Dean considers it. They’re a pretty intimidating bunch. James is the only one he's ever been formally introduced to, and he seemed nice. He takes in the hopeful and shy tilt to Cas’ face, and he can't deny it. 

“Yeah, why not?” Dean grins, and Cas looks both scared and smug. This ought to be fun. 

\--

Dean is cleaning the fender of his Baby, enjoying the cold leak to the air. That’s also something that's changed. His penchant for the cold now. Probably has something to do with Castiel. 

Thunk. 

Dean startles and his rag flies into the sky, only for Cas to pluck it from its flight and throw it back gently onto Dean’s head. He's sitting in a goddamn tree, smiling gumly. 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Yeah, hello, Spider-man.” Dean grumbles, throwing the rag down with a budding grin. “Could you try to act like a human being and get the fuck down from there?”

Castiel jumps gracefully down from his chosen limb, gliding against the wind as if he had wings. He lands lithely and comes up beside Dean, invading his personal space with an intense gleam to his eye. Crystalline blue, like a still pond, touched only by nature and ringed with bellflower. “I was feeling, excited.” Castiel decides with a private smile, like he's not used to it. Dean wonders how long he's felt like this. 

“How old are you, Cas?” Dean asks, fiddling with the collar of the other boy’s coat. Cas considers him a moment.

“Twenty.” He tells him, pursing his lips. A laugh bubbles unbidden from Dean’s throat.

“Sure, Cas.” Dean snorts, turning around and walking towards the Volvo. Cas is there to open his door, causing Dean to blush again. “How old are you, really?” Dean prods when Castiel slips into the car beside him. 

Castiel sighs and looks straight ahead, something about his youthful face seeming, ancient. Dean is almost afraid to hear the answer. 

“That's not wholly my story to tell. James. He should tell you.” Cas admits, fingering the wheel nervously. He puts the car in gear and they speed off, the Volvo eating the gleaming asphalt beneath them eagerly. 

“And, he's your real father. James.” Dean assumes. He'd nearly mistaken James for Castiel in the hospital, the two look so similarly. Identical even. 

“He's not my father. My creator, yes. In actuality-,” Castiel pulls down a barely there road that leads them deep into the wood. Dean bites his lip, feeling claustrophobic beneath the heavy, green canopy. “James is my twin brother.” 

Dean’s jaw drops so fast it clicks. He moans and rubs the uncomfortable spot, the dizziness of confusion dimpling his brow. 

“Cas, what in the hell?” Dean demands, lurching forward when they come to an abrupt halt at the end of the road. Cas shrugs, the movement too precise. 

“He poses as my father here. He was in a war, scars on his face and the stress of battle left him looking more significantly aged. It would create too many questions.” Castiel explains, opening his door, only to be opening Dean’s within the next blink. Dean sighs, and finally looks ahead at the place Castiel lays his head. Or keeps his damned coffin. 

It is, if Dean were to compare Castiel to a house, a perfect candidate. It’s three stories, although Dean isn't quite sure because the house's shape is so friggin abstract. It's made of clean, strict lines that go out far in some places and stop short in others. The forest around the house is reflected brightly in floor to ceiling glass. Dean lets loose a stressed breath and follows Castiel up a meticulously pebbled path. 

Jesus. Dean had anticipated, at the very least, a black, Victorian mansion, complete with the gothic, wrought iron fence and bats. Like a Scooby Doo episode or something. If not that, maybe a modest, two-story cabin like all the other homes this far out in the woods. 

“It’s the only place we don't have to hide.” Castiel hums, hand on the doorknob. He looks thoughtfully up at Dean, smirking. “Why not make a show of it?”

He gently opens the door, an expectant look on his face. Dean guesses he's listening for his family’s thoughts. Their mental greetings and newfound awareness of their presence. It's scary as it is awesome to recognize that, and Dean smiles privately to himself. He knows more about Castiel than anyone else. It makes Dean feel more in control, which at times with Castiel, can switch. It's something Dean has to get used to, that's for sure. 

Not that he doesn't like it. In fact, Dean likes the role reversal a little too much. 

“Castiel?” Someone calls, their voice like liquid nitrogen. Dean follows Castiel hesitantly around the corner, and jumps at the sight of Anna standing stiltedly before them, silent and unmoving. The hope in the air shatters. “Dean.” 

She looks pissed. Not unlike a righteous angel in the paintings of old, her scarlet tresses flaring out like wings, the cloud color of her skin tumultuous. Dean inches a tad closer to Cas. 

“Anna. Watch your mouth.” Cas snaps, and if Anna is the calm before the storm, Cas is the hurricane. His face thunders and his hand flicks lighting fast to gently grab Dean’s.

An immaculate eyebrow rises high up Anna’s forehead. The shape of the brow is familiar, overly-plucked and arched round like a rainbow. Dean files that detail away for later. 

“Fine. This way, we made coffee.” She snaps smoothly, turning gracefully on her heel and disappearing in a red flash. Dean blinks stupidly at the empty space she occupied only a second before. 

“Fuck.” Dean breathes, and looks helplessly down at Castiel. Cas smiles sheepishly, and squeezes Dean’s hand. He pulls him along. 

Dean looks around the house as they go, noting a strong preference for blue. Blue everywhere, blue rugs, plush navy furniture, cobalt and gold wall art. It’s like walking beneath the waves, the sunlight peeking cheekily through. 

“Deano!” 

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, eyes flicking up a set of redwood stairs beside him. At the top of them twinkle two, bronze specks. A white, toothy smile winks through the shadows, coming closer to the light until it's joined by a smooth, unblemished face of Grecian decent. 

“Gabriel.” Dean gulps, watching in disbelief as Gabriel practically floats down the stairs. His skin is the tannest, though still washed out by the lack of blood beneath it. Dean is amazed at the utter gold of his hair. Like liquid fucking money. 

“Why, you do smell good.” Gabriel chuckles, jumping over the last step and invading Dean’s space with an intimidating but quirky air. 

Then he kisses Dean on the cheek. 

Dean chuckles shrilly, and touches the spot in shock. Castiel seems to find it all very funny, and simply rolls his eyes amicably at his brother. Dean goes to look at the shorter vampire again, but he's gone. 

“Jesus, do none of you just walk?” He hisses, which Cas giggles at. Dean warms at the sound, and very badly wants to kiss him. 

“The younger ones, no.” Says a voice. Dean and Castiel continue around the last corner, and come across a living room. Anna is perched on a stool closest to the window, glaring unabashedly at Dean. Lucifer is appraising him happily from a cadet blue couch. Gabriel waggles his eyebrows from the ottoman. Gadreel stands stiffly in the corner. 

The one who had spoken was James, who stands welcomingly in the middle of the room. 

“The young ones?” Dean asks shakily. Lucifer laughs, voice like silver. 

“Anna and Gabriel, they're twentieth-century-ers.” He explains, like Dean is supposed to know what the hell that means. Castiel brushes a comforting thumb across the back of Dean’s hand. 

“Please, excuse them. We've met before, but let me properly introduce myself.” James steps forward, holding out a strong, tan hand, just like Cas’, but heavily scarred. “I'm James Novak, or Jimmy, if you prefer.” 

“Dean. Dean Winchester.” He replies, smiling crookedly. He's so goddamn nervous, the cold of Jimmy’s hand jolts an embarrassing chill through Dean’s body. Dean blushes, and goes to apologize.

“Don't.” Jimmy smiles, holding up a placant hand. “It's quite alright, it’s a natural reaction- I get it all the time.” 

“Oh, okay.” Dean says dumbly, and he hears Anna snicker. Fuck, maybe this wasn't a good idea, after all. He turns to Cas, who glares over Dean’s shoulder at Anna, before looking up at Dean. 

“It's alright, Dean. I promise.” Cas tells him firmly and with a territorial fierceness. “Jimmy, earlier he asked about our age. Would you tell the story?” Cas asks suddenly, obviously trying to pull them away from the uncomfortable tenseness in the room. Jimmy lights up, a melancholy brightness dipping into his sea green eyes. 

“I suppose Castiel finally told you I am his brother, rather than his father.” Jimmy observes with a pleased look at Cas, who simply shrugs and begins leading the three up the aforementioned redwood stairs. “It's a necessary precaution, but a strange one.”

“Yeah, for real. I fell for it, too.” Dean admits, relaxed now in the relieved atmosphere. “And you really, just look older because of war?” Dean bites his tongues and kicks himself. Wow, how fucking tactless. 

Jimmy laughs lightly, and takes the head, herding them into a room with a large, ancient cross above the door. Dean begins to think Cas and Jimmy are as old as that fucking thing. 

“Yes, The Thirty Years War. I joined when I was fifteen, and obviously, it did not do me well.” He gestures to the deep gashes in his forehead Dean had mistaken for wrinkles, the cragged scars through his cheeks. He is still stunningly beautiful, identical to Cas but also, so not. The personality in Cas is probably what makes him seem so special to Dean. Dean watches him, now, as he stalks through the large and expansive office. He looks unbelievably wise against the backdrop of books and heavy tombs. 

He follows his movements until he's standing beneath a slowly fading painting. Dean walks closer, slipping into Cas’ side as he looks at it. Dean squints, because holy shit, there, on a beautiful marble balcony above a horde of red hoods, is Cas and Jimmy, looking down regally down at them. Their little faces are painted with strokes of snow white and flecks of black. 

“Is this you?” Dean asks, astounded. “This painting has to be centuries old! Who’re the other grumpy bastards?” 

Castiel pulls his away with a dark look. “That's a story for another time, Dean. Lets listen to mine and Jimmy’s first.” Dean nods, bashful, and lets Cas go around him to join his brother. 

“How old are we, Jimmy?” Cas asks, settling down on the edge of a desk. Dean drops attentively into a chair, excited that Castiel is finally just going to spit it the fuck out. 

“Oh?” Jimmy looks up from a book. “Three hundred and thirty-seven.” 

Dean feels his heart drop into his asshole. 

Holy shit.


	5. Spotlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter update on Wednesday for now!! Keep things interesting ;)! Hope you're enjoying, don't forget to leave comments and kudos!!

Spotlight

“I'm dating a crypt keeper!” Dean exclaims. He jumps up and paces the blackwood floor, his lip sucked between his teeth. He turns back suddenly, eyes landing on Castiel. He looks as elegant as the mountains, strong and unmoving against the forest behind him through the shimmering glass. He looks young, on the outside, ageless. His eyes, however, are so soft and wise, ancient. 

Then Dean realizes what he's said. He blushes so insanely red he sees Castiel gulp. “If that's, you know.” Dean stutters to a stop, and shakes his head. 

“Dean. I would love that.” Castiel says kindly, touching Dean’s cheek gently. He stares into Cas’ eyes, looking for any signs of hesitation. 

“Awesome.” Dean breathes. They continue to stare at each other, Dean eating in Cas’ face. He can tell that Cas had been tan, dark tan, like a farmer. The blood that had once filled his cheeks is gone, leaving icy peaks blemished only by the swooping purple clouds beneath his eyes. His cheekbones are high, and blend into the bags with a divot. His eyes, they're particularly dark today. Like twilight. 

“Ahem.” Dean startles, and looks around to Jimmy, who waves awkwardly. Dean rolls his eyes, and steps away from Castiel. It’s worrying how hard it is to do so. 

“Sorry.” Dean mutters, looking down at his shoes. The dirty boots look ridiculous against the waxed floor. “Lets just, let's listen to the story.”

Jimmy smiles sadly, and sits down in a high back chair beyond the desk. He looks like a president, a king, maybe. The pope, even. 

“Where to start? Let’s see, my brother and I were born to a poor family of farmers three hundred and thirty seven years ago, pre-Renaissance, although barely.” Jimmy begins, Dean softening into the fold of Cas’ side as they listen. “Castiel was a sickly child, which usually happened in those days when twins were born. Mothers didn't get enough nutrients for themselves, much less for a baby, especially two while in utero. So, he was undeveloped.”

Dean tries to imagine that, a small, ill-laden Cas, barely surviving in a time where people couldn't even read. Doctors must have been a luxury whole towns wouldn't have been able to afford. 

“We grew up closely, our mother Hani, or Hannah in the English diminutive, died of influenza when we were quite young, which only brought us closer. We had no siblings, and our father was, absent to say the least.” Both Jimmy and Castiel scoff, a haunted look widening their eyes. 

“So, when time came for war, Yaakov- James, in Hebrew, Dean- took it as it was. An escape.” Castiel sighs, looking sadly off into the distance. “I was angry, betrayed that he would leave me. I couldn't fight. I couldn't leave the farm without catching ill.”

“That did not stop him from talking to every soldier that came through our village in Romania, Dârjiu. Castiel is an excellent strategist, unparalleled. You should have seen him at the Battle of Britain.” Jimmy exudes proudly, and if Dean weren't so busy freaking the fuck out because, shit, that's hot, he'd see the not-there-blush on Cas’ face. 

“I would've been a great asset. I was always the calculating one. I didn't care about God, but I cared about our land, our livelihood.” Cas grits, his voice like sandstone. It's the most passionate Dean’s ever seen him. No wonder Castiel is so precise, always thrumming with that knowledgeable danger that pulls Dean in like a moth to flame. 

Cas is a solider. 

“Oh, yes. Cas has too much heart, which is admittedly his greatest strength, as well his greatest weakness. Cas will do whatever it takes, to protect what is his. I, however, am a simple romantic.” Jimmy smiles dreamily, and looks off into a memory Dean can't see, but can feel hanging tangibly in the air. “I came home for a winter, and met Amalia. My wife. We married the day I returned to battle. She’s still the most beautiful woman I've ever known, I fell for her the moment we met.”

Castiel purses his lips, and looks at Dean. Dean can't look away, never when looking at Cas. Cas gives him that private, gummy smile, Dean’s smile. “They wasted no time consummating their union. My niece Clara was born while Jimmy was still in war. Rumors flew that I was her real father, since I was the one taking care of them while Jimmy was gone.” 

Dean laughs. Cas, with a child? It's a strange thought, an impossible one. 

“I never actually met her, I had been gone for three years when I heard of their murder. I was seventeen, destroyed, stripped down to the base and bloody instinct of revenge. I left Castiel to pick up the pieces, while I scavenged the monster that bled by family dry.” Jimmy says calmly, like he's had years and years to ruminate to the point of neutrality. “Only to find exactly what I was looking for. Him. Mihail.”

Dean looks briefly back at the painting, eyes drawn to an angelic, blond man standing at the head of the balcony. 

“He couldn't believe I'd tracked him. He was impressed, intrigued by my grief. Mihail has always been so curious, fascinated by human life. He bit me, and left me for undead, undrunk. Like an apple, I spoiled. Or so I thought at first, damned I must be for the pain was unbearable. It went on for days as I bled out against the snow. On the third day, I woke up, and I was no longer a human.”

Dean notices offhandedly that while Cas and Jimmy speak of the past, their voices take on an otherworldly and ancient accent, their diction following suit. They're talking like the Bible, Dean struggling to catch up. The accent is even familiar, but Dean can't put his finger on it.

“I was crippled with unbearable thirst, but I refused to harm an innocent. I held off for days, weeks, months, walking unbidden through the forest, wishing for death, to join my wife and daughter. Eventually, a doe crossed my path and I couldn't retrain myself. I drank her.” James smiles, as if remembering what must've been a crazy fucking relief. Dean likens it to the first taste of cool water after a brutal run. At least, that's how he can imagine it. 

“It was then that I realized I could remain a vampire, and never drink a drop of human blood. I think I drank the entire fauna populous of that forest, before I was comfortable enough to return home to Castiel.” Jimmy trails off darkly. Dean bites his lip. Fuck. Dean can already tell where this is going. “When I arrived at our family home, I noticed our crops had been neglected. The flowers on my family’s grave overgrown.”

Castiel grabs Dean’s hands once he notices their shaking. Dean rolls his eyes, but allows Cas to still them. 

“Castiel was deathly ill, for how long we still don't know, in due to Castiel’s hysteria and my affliction. He was nearly dead, from what I recognize now as a strain of plague. I later learned that a city man had visited to record the deaths of Amalia and Clara, who he must have got it from.” Jimmy takes a shuddering breath. Dean feels it hover sweetly in the air, only to be inhaled back in. “What I did next was the hardest thing I've ever done.”

“He turned me.” Cas says softly, turning to Dean, eyes raking him over, looking for something Dean can't identify. So he stares back, hoping to answer what Cas is questioning. Somehow, it eases him, and Cas slumps gently into Dean’s space, reassured. “He had to run, for months, left me there to turn while he tortured himself. To keep himself from consuming all my blood. He saved as well as damned me.”

“Stop saying that.” Dean spits, burning his gaze into Castiel’s like brand, then into Jimmy’s, too. “You aren't damned. I've seen the damned, I've seen the man who murdered my mother, and I saw that he deserved hell. You, you are men who refuse to hurt a human despite what your actual, goddamn instincts tell you. You're not monsters. You're friggin, I don't know, angels.” He exclaims, panting. Cas gaps at him for a moment. 

Then he kisses him. 

Right there, in front of Jimmy, in front of the creepy painting, beneath the sunset oranges and golds shining through the window. Dean closes his eyes and feels that which he's never felt before. It feels like liquid silver coursing through his veins to fortify his heart with gleaming armor. To etch into it with the fire of Cas’ lips, his name; Castiel. It's like a movie, at the end when the girl gets the guy, and the wind blows her pretty blonde hair back. 

Dean pulls away, and whispers into the warm air between their lips, voice like shattered glass, “I love you.” 

Castiel’s arms, cold and hard like glaciers, pull Dean closer against him, his lips rising to brush along Dean’s once more. “You are my life now.” He replies, and his breath tastes like cinnamon, raw, sweet, biting. 

“Castiel.” Jimmy says softly. “I'll give you two a moment.” Dean watches him go, stomach churning with guilt and embarrassment, until the door closes and Jimmy is gone. His attention is pulled, however, to a beautiful piano that had been hiding behind the open door.

Dean walks towards it, almost in a trance, Cas’ hand within his own, tight as a vice. The grand piano is nestled quietly in the corner closest to the door. He hadn't noticed it before; it's hard to notice anything but the two Adonises is the room. But the piano is nice, a gleaming black with blue accents. Hell of a lot nicer than his mom’s had been. 

“Do you play?” Cas asks curiously. Dean lights up, grinning. 

“Yeah, actually.” He says, and makes an abortive move toward the bench. “Can I?” 

Cas seems surprised but pleased, and nods. Dean goes to sit, and pats the seat beside him. Cas joins him with a sweet smile, and Dean finds himself wanting to kiss it again. 

Dean takes a deep breath and looks away. He raises his arms and settles his fingers on the ivory. 

The notes to Hey Jude flow like water along a river. It vibrates through Dean’s fingers, warming his chest and reddening his cheeks. He imagines the gold of his mother's hair in the keys, the shine of Sam’s toothy grin in the rhythm. He sees Cas’ eyes in the words. 

Before he knows it, Dean has driven through the album, the familiar sound of The Beatles settling him on the bench and into Cas side. He grimaces as his fingers begin to ache, and he blushes. Dammit, he's gone too far. 

His fingers fly from the keys and to his lap. He sees a pair of hands grab his own, and bring them to Cas’ face. Dean is concerned by his expression, it looks like he's been crying, just with no trace of tears. 

“Cas, are you okay? What's wrong?” Dean demands, but Cas simply kisses Dean’s fingers. Dean feels his whole face down to his chest burn. 

“Dean. That was beautiful.” He says reverently, and Dean looks away, embarrassed. However, he finds five sets of eyes staring back at him, stunned. Even Anna looks perplexed, her tiny, red mouth hanging right open. 

“Sorry, was I bothering you or something?” He asks, feeling like a total dick. He must have so loud. 

“No. Not at all, Dean.” Lucifer says with a bright grin. “Why, isn't this going to be interesting?” 

\--

The week after that goes by shakily. Mostly because the Novaks acknowledge Dean now, and they seem to really fucking enjoy creeping him out. Lucifer, for example, likes scoping him out in the hallway and asking him about his Caileute heritage. He's always sporting a large, devilish grin that unsettles the shit out of Dean. 

Anna still refuses to talk to him, and every time they run into each other, she glares at him down her delicate, bony nose like he's gum on the bottom of her precious Versace stilettos. Gadreel avoids him at all costs for whatever reason, probably because Dean’s blood is apparently like pizza to vampires. 

As for Gabriel, he's probably the most normal out of all them, including Cas. He's chill, knows a lot about math like Dean, and has taken to gently pranking him here and there. It feels like he's just working him up to a more Fred and George level of trickery, so Dean will count the little blessings for now. 

Castiel, of course, is itching for their weekend together. So is Dean, obviously, but he's got a reputation to maintain, and melting beneath Cas’ gaze in Bio is not a good way to do so. Dean does sit with him everyday now at lunch, although Gabriel has joined them. It's hard to subtly stare at each other and not say anything when Gabriel is babbling their ears off. Hey, Dean gets it, the guy has been single since The Great Depression. 

Maybe. Dean’s been guessing what era he's from everyday, but he still hasn't gotten it. Fucking sceptic-ass vampire. 

When Friday rolls around, Dean decides to tell John about the trip. At dinner. Unplanned. 

“I'm going out of town with Castiel Novak this weekend.” Dean blurts, mouth still full of mashed potatoes. He gulps, and blushes as red as the linoleum table-top. What the fuck, Dean. Goddamnit.

John lowers his fork, and looks at him steadily. “Why?” He asks simply, but a tone of concern and admittedly, confusion, colors his words. Dean swallows his last bite of food, and guzzles the rest of his glass of water. He sets it down with a thunk, and takes in a deep breath of air. 

“Cause we're friends. Like, best friends or whatever. We wanted to see if we could find good hunting grounds for the summer.” Dean spitfires, panting immediately afterwards. He shoves more food into his mouth to hide it. 

John’s eyebrows raise, but his shoulders slump in relief. “Why didn't you just say so? Make sure it's a marked and legal area and be careful with the Impala.” John grumbles, focus already back on his ribeye. Dean relaxes so hard his chair creaks. 

Later on, after he’s cleaned up the kitchen and John has gone to bed, Dean finds that he can't sleep. 

He paces around his room, takes a shower, listens to the whole Zeppelin CD. He even lays in Sam’s old room for awhile. Finally, Dean decides, fuck it, and takes some damn Benadryl. He settles back into his own bed, the rain pattering away in earnest, of course, until he conks out. 

He dreams of angels, waging war in the sky, their eyes heavy with tears that cannot fall.

\--

Dean wakes up with the sun. Dean runs to the window and gapes down at the yellow drop of sunlight reflecting off his Impala, blinking up at him brightly. He grins, and feels the warmth of the sun on his cheeks. His freckles friggin sing. 

He dresses accordingly, in a pair of thin jeans because, sweetheart, Dean doesn't do shorts, and a black tank-top. Hopefully Cas won't bust a nut or whatever, because if Dean ever sees Cas in a tank-top that's most definitely what Dean will do. 

He puts his boots on at the end of the stairs, the smile on his face growing and growing as he anticipates the purr of Cas’ shitty Volvo. He even eats breakfast, ass on the glossy, kitchen counter, chin crumby from a granola bar. He's just packing a backpack full of water and shit, because Dean thinks Cas mentioned something about hiking, when he hears the gravel of his driveway crunch excitedly. 

Dean's up at out the door quicker than he was getting out of bed that morning. The air is ripe with spring, the weed flowers drifting in the stubborn winter breeze. 

The Volvo shines like a diamond in the sun, Dean squinting at it as he locks the door. He can't even see Cas the windows are so tinted, and the glare so bright. He laughs as he makes his way over to open the door, eyes lighting up when he sees Cas inside, smiling softly. 

“Trying not to burn into a pile of ash, huh?” Dean asks cheekily, jumping into the car and slamming the door with gusto. Cas rolls his eyes at him and leans forward to peck him briefly on the lips. Dean blushes, and his smile somehow gains a couple of extra watts. 

“Dean, we’re driving the Impala today.” Cas says solemnly, and Dean throws his head back in laughter.

“I thought I'd say hello to the foreigner. Hello, piece of shit, how're you?” Dean asks the dash, Castiel snorting all the while. It's like friggen music to Dean’s ears. 

He hasn't felt this way in a long time. Never probably, not when Cas outshines the sun, even in his dark, shaded car. “C’mon, Cas.” Dean says softly, and gets out of the car again. 

The Impala waits for him like a loyal steed, standing proudly in the glittering sunlight, practically begging to be driven. Dean is happy to comply, sliding into the driver’s seat and signing with relief. It's been so long.

Dean doesn't even notice Cas joining him until he's shutting the door. He's got his trench coat collar turned up against the wind. Maybe vampires get cold easy. 

“Ready, Cas?” Dean asks, watching as Cas runs long, boxy fingers over the dash like it's holy land. Damn right it is. Cas is quiet for a moment longer, feeling next the leather between them, smelling the lingering aroma of tobacco and peppermint. Dean tries to see it through his eyes, and finds it once again a as beautiful as the first time he saw it. Cas only adds to its awesomeness. “Let's take a ride in my Baby.” 

“I don't understand the context, Dean.” Cas admits stiffly, though relaxed his body is, inching ever so closer to Dean on the bench seat. 

“It's the first thing that's really, mine. No one else's. Like a child I guess, a baby.” Dean answers stiltedly, trying to put together some logical explanation. It sounds right, anyway. 

“I'm sorry, Dean.” Cas says strongly, boring a hole into Dean’s face as they pull onto the access road. “I have seen the birth of too many languages and the diminutives, it's hard for me to keep up with the slang of the decade.” Cas continues, and it makes Dean crumple a little, the way he usually gets when he sees a hot chick walk by. A movement that would've hidden any stirring in his jeans. 

“It's cool, Cas. Actually pretty friggen sweet if you think about it.” Dean defends. He's kind of sick and tired of Cas ragging on himself all the time. He's a good guy, smart, kind, strong in more ways than one. He must have been lonely for so long, he must've gotten used to thinking about all the ways no one would want him. 

Or maybe that's Dean. He frowns out at the asphalt, saying nothing until the exit for the east highway comes up, as well the turnaround for the west. Cas seems to have caught on to the somber mood and simply says, “West.” 

Dean takes the turnaround with a deep breath. Once onto the highway and into the familiar flow of traffic, Dean relaxes. The sight of the sun twinkling off the hood, the cinnamon and lightening presence of Cas beside him, puts Dean back into his good mood. 

“So, where we going, Cas?” Dean asks, sparing him a glance. His profile is sharp, his nose long, his lips thin where they look so plush from the front. His forehead goes forward with his dark, scrunched brows and Dean can't help but sigh for how fucking gorgeous he is. 

“Wait, Dean.” Cas tells him patiently, reaching out to touch Dean’s shoulder. Dean grabs his hand and holds it tight in his own, their joined palms settling against the warm leather. 

“Fine, but driver picks the music shotgun shuts his cakehole. Hit that button, will you?” Dean asks, and Cas reaches forward to click the radio’s power. The tape in the deck is Blue Öyster Cult’s Spectres, and Dean grins at the opening riff of Nosferatu fills the Impala. 

How fucking ironic. 

The drive is amazing, the sun shining down on Forks and the surrounding forest puts it all in a new light. Now, instead of an alien planet, it seems like a scene from Jurassic Park or Indiana Jones. Dean can get down with that. Especially with the cold, gentle weight of Cas’ hand in his own. 

Every now and then Cas will say turn here, go straight, slow down. Dean smiles cheekily and hits the gas every time. 

Finally, they find themselves at the end of the road. Dean gapes and puts the Impala in park, walking out in the tree sheltered hollow, staring incredulously at the red and white warning post. 

“Damnit, Cas.” Dean huffs, smiling over the car at the vampire, who's moved into a deep shadow beneath a willow tree. Cas’ smile glitters like a pearl necklace in the specks of sunlight through the leaves. Dean turns the car off, heart gooey at the sight. Cas gestures for Dean to follow, and like a boat aided by a lighthouse, Dean lets Cas guide him through the dark wood. 

“You gonna tell me where we're going at one point?” Dean calls, squinting his eyes through the liquid green light. Cas is far ahead, like he ran or something. Dean is going incredibly slow so he doesn't trip and eat it on the bulbous tree roots. Typical vampire, showing off. 

They walk for what seems like hours, or it seems that way to an out of shape Dean Winchester. Just when Dean thinks he's gotten close enough to grab the tail of Cas’ beloved trench coat, he's off again on the emerald horizon. Dean's scared the damn sun will set before they get to where they're going. Although, going by the sunburn boiling a top Dean’s head, it's only noon. 

“Cas, dude. I'm only human.” Dean groans, slumping onto a dead tree. Cas’ chuckle echoes softly through the quiet wood. Dean smiles despite himself, sweat salty on his lips. 

“We’re here, Dean. A few more yards.” Cas calls back, and Dean hoists himself up with a grunt. 

“Sure, cause vampires don't get tired. Yards my ass.” Dean grumbles, rolling his shoulders in discomfort. Great, he's sunburned. Whatever this thing is better be damn good. 

Dean walks a few more feet before seeing a break in the trees, a blue kind of light replacing the green, twinkling promisingly ahead. He tries to catch up to Cas, jumping lithely over roots in his excitement to break from the claustrophobic confines of the trees. He trips on the last long, knobbed root, and skids to a halt beside Cas, dirt flying. 

Cas looks at him, a grim expression breaking his icy features. “Hello, Dean.” He greets solemnly, and looks out at the clearing.

A clearing may not be that accurate a term. As Dean surveys the sweet circle, free of trees and pregnant with the aroma of wildflowers, he thinks of the word, meadow. Which sounds gay as hell, but, Dean kinda is, isn't he?

The flowers, that litter the meadow as grass does his front lawn, are various shades of blue and purple. Dean can see sprigs of wild ginger, harebell, Oregon iris, and even families of bells of Ireland and daisies. 

It makes him think so starkly of his mom, who would point out various flowers and their names through the car window as they travelled from state to state, no destination in mind. It reminds him of the scent of Indian paintbrushes tangling in her hair, the tufts of dandelion that stuck to Sam, and then Dean when he wished for his big brother to play with him. Dean recalls his hands sticky and green with handfuls of yellow weed-flower, that he picked to stick behind his mother’s ear.

“Dean. Are you okay?” Cas asks, and Dean turns to him, tears in his eyes. 

“Thank you.” Dean says quietly, so quietly he isn't sure Cas hears it. Evidently he does, because in a second he is front of Dean, tilting his head down with a gentle hand. 

“Dean.” He insists, and Dean swallows thickly. 

“My mom and I, we liked flowers. Not very manly, I get it.” Dean grunts, blushing. Cas finds his eyes and frowns sternly. 

“You are everything, Dean. Being a man is not who you are.” He enthuses, drilling the statement into Dean with his crystal cut eyes. Dean nods shakily, searching for Cas’ lips. Castiel pulls away however, and inches towards the edge of the shadows. “This is for your mother, Dean. Maybe she will see me from Heaven, and know that you are safe now.” 

Cas closes his eyes, opens his coat, and lets it fall to his ankles. He's in a short-sleeved polo of a cream white, matched with his usual ill-fitting black slacks. 

He slips into the sunlight. 

“Cas!” Dean yells, expecting smoke and the screams of the dying. Instead, his eyes flutter against a sudden glare of light. Like glitter, it floats across his vision in little silver specks, rainbow-like at some angles, like a cut and polished diamond at others. 

It takes Dean a moment to realize the source of the light is Cas. Cas’s skin. 

“Sonovabitch.” Dean breathes, and he walks ever-so-slowly to Castiel. When he reaches him, and he casts the softest shadow above Cas, the glare dims slightly. Dean then looks up at the cloudless, cerulean sky and smiles, because yeah. Mom would have seen that. 

“I love you, Dean.” Castiel says silently, lips moving against Dean’s Adam’s Apple. Dean shudders, and moves his lips down, capturing Cas’s.

They kiss beneath the warm sun, the breeze intermingling their scents in with the wildflowers, the ginger sharp when intermingled with Cas’ cinnamon. Dean melts into it all, pulling Cas’ pliant body close against his.

Slowly, Dean lowers them onto their knees, then onto their sides to lay amongst the bells and blossoms of lilac, cobalt, gold, and peridot. Despite being so grounded to the Earth, their lips so soft against one another, Dean floats amongst the goddamn stars.

\--


	6. Never Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YALL I AM SO SORRY I HAVENT UPDATED IN A WHILE, I MOVED INTO AND STARTED COLLEGE SO ITS BEEN A BIT HECTIC, SO THE CHAPTER IS RELATIVELY SHORT, BUT ITS HERE SO SO SO SORRY

Never Think  
\--

 

“Dean.” Cas sighs, turning around with a frown. He’s got his ugly trench coat thrown over his shoulder, and his skin still glitters like a Christmas ornament. 

“Cas, I will never be as fast as you.” Dean gripes, wanting very badly to sit down. Cas rolls his eyes and moves toward him, hand stretched out. 

“Do you trust me?” Cas asks, eyes smiling like they do. Dean hums, and ticks his head. 

“I don’t know, how tasty does my blood seem to you lately?” Dean asks cheekily. Cas snorts, and runs his fingers down Dean’s neck, over his jugular, probably. 

“You are as irresistible as the first time I smelt you. I can control myself far better, now, though.” Cas says proudly, fingers rising to run over the bridge of Dean’s nose. 

“Shit, Cas.” Dean breathes, catching Cas’ fingers and kissing the pads. “What am I, a drug to you?” he laughs, softening what could've been a blow. Cas grins sadistically. 

“You’re exactly my brand of heroin.” he tells him, his face growing serious again. “And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.”

“I am not a lamb, you poetic dork.” Dean snorts, swatting Cas’ hand away with a grin. Cas laughs, sweet and loud and gummy, and Dean’s heart skips a couple of beats.

“Alright, and so the lion fell in love with the wolf.” Cas concedes, pulling Dean closer to him. 

“Better. But fuck, what a stupid wolf.” Dean hums, smiling into Cas’ mouth. Cas chuckles darkly. 

“What a sick, masochistic lion.” he says between their breaths. Dean closes his eyes, and goes to close the distance, but Cas pulls away and whips Dean around him. He grins over his shoulder, and nods his head. “Get on.”

Dean’s eyes widen, but what the hell. Cas can hold his weight, Dean remembers from the blood typing. Besides, Dean would pretty much do anything to feel a part of Cas, and his back is so far uncharted territory. Dean climbs on, and Cas adjusts him like a backpack or something. No friggen effort at all, the bastard.

Before Dean can settle, though, Cas is off like a bullet, rushing through the trees like a bird in flight. Dean’s eyes water and his stomach flips, and oh god, this feels too much like flying. Every time Cas darts around a tree, Dean flinches, and finally he just shuts his damn eyes. Jesus, Dean really is a stupid wolf. At this point he’d even accept being a lamb. 

Within seconds, they’re beside the Impala, and Dean jumps off immediately and sits down. 

“Fuck, Cas.” he grunts, head between his knees. Cas follows him to the ground, concerned, his hand straight to the back of Dean’s neck. The iciness of his skin helps drastically and Dean leans back into it. 

“Dean, are you alright?” he asks, tilting Dean’s chin up with the other hand, high enough to meet his eyes. Dean gulps, and nods. 

“That just felt too much like flying, and I really hate flying.” Dean admits, calmed by Cas’ gaze and cool touches. Cas frowns deeply, and steps back. 

“I apologize, Dean, I should have asked.” Cas looks at his feet and balls his fists, looking like a chipped diamond. Dean has the energy to chortle, and shakes his head.

“It’s fine, Cas, just warn me next time.” Dean tells him earnestly, and Cas offers him a shy dimpling off his cheeks. “Dude, come here.” Dean pulls himself up, and pulls Cas in by one of his belt loops. 

Cas appraises him like a bible verse or something, before touching his lips to Dean’s. There's so much passion in it, and dare Dean say love, that he can't help but surge forward, pouncing on Cas and shoving him into the Impala door. His body is like a wall, but pliant to Dean’s touches. He works a knee between Cas’ legs, and the vampire whines. 

Dean is pushed back, and stumbles to right himself. He blinks, confused, now a couple of feet in front of Castiel.

“Oops.” he says sheepishly, realizing how hard it must've been for Cas not to friggin break him with his own feverish movements. 

“That’s an understatement.” Cas pants, but his eyes twinkle with want and mischief. “You’re in no condition to drive, Dean. Get in the passenger seat.”

Dean pouts, but Cas isn’t wrong. “You better count yourself among the only two people in the world worthy enough to drive my baby.” Dean snaps playfully, face still hot with arousal, hands placed strategically in front of his crotch. Cas rolls his eyes and gets in the driver’s seat. Dean goes around the car reluctantly, flipping Cas off as he does so. 

“Who’s the other one?” Cas asks once he’s inside. 

“Me.” Dean grins, and Cas backs them out and onto the highway, the sun setting behind them, the shine to Cas’ skin diminishes as dusk approaches. 

\-- 

Castiel takes to the road like a bat out of hell, the asphalt quickly being devoured by the Impala’s spinning wheels. 

“So, Cas. Tell me more about your family. I know about you and Jimmy now, what about the others?” Dean asks, leaning forward to turn down the music. Cas looks thoughtfully out the windshield, before reaching forward to turn the music off completely. 

“I suppose I can start with Lucifer, he’s the second oldest.” he begins, settling deeper into the seat with a familiarity that warms Dean’s heart. “I will tell you what I know, but Lucifer still remains a mystery to all of us.” 

He is from America, unlike Jimmy and I. He was born to Puritans I believe, when religion was the air you breathed. In fact, I don’t believe Lucifer is his real name, I think it is more of an ironic moniker.” Castiel smiles darkly. “Lucifer has always had a dark sense of humor.”

“No shit.” Dean snorts, eyes drawn to the way Cas’ purple bags cut into his otherwise colorless skin. Dean wonders if its residue of blood that makes the color, or the natural decay of the undead. 

Castiel chuckles, and spares him a glance. “Anyway, Lucifer was a nomad when we found him, Jimmy and myself. He was prowling the hills of what is now officially the Caileute reservation, until he heard of a rogue vampire killing the tribe. It sat wrong with him for whatever reason, and he sought out help. He found it in us.”

Dean frowns. That explains his fascination in Dean’s ties to the Tribe. It’s not like Dean is even Caileute, he’s a Campbell. Obviously, he might have some Native American blood in him, after all, both sides of the coin have since intermingled. 

“Does he have a power like you?” Dean asks, and Castiel tilts his head to the side. 

“Yes, it’s very difficult to describe. I suppose you could say he is very, very persuasive. He could make a devout man throw his cross in the dirt and vice versa. Indeed, the snake he is.” Castiel hums, ending the subject with a dismissive nod. Dean thinks about this, and hopes one day he’ll hear it all from Lucifer himself. 

“Is Gabriel next?” Dean asks, and Cas rolls his eyes. 

“Oh yes, I remember it quite well.” he sighs, taking a turn so fast in startles Dean that it's also so smooth. “Gabriel, you see, just showed up. He walked up to our front door.” 

Dean’s eyebrows raise. Somehow, he’s not surprised, it sounds like the impish vampire. “Yeah?”

“Yes, with Gadreel, in tow. Gabriel’s power is the ability to see the future, although it’s confined to the map of the Butterfly Effect.” Castiel explains, and Dean furrows his brow. 

“What do you mean?” Dean pushes, and Castiel flits his fingers along the wheel. 

“Well, it's like the unpredictable choices of the human mind. It’s ruled by instinct, and it's ultimately quite impulsive. The Butterfly Effect explains this by exploring the possibility of a single beat of a butterfly’s wing causing a hurricane on the other side of the world, like a single choice can alter a person’s life wholly and completely.” Cas monologues, Dean entranced as always by the rhythmic gravel of his voice. 

“So, he only sees the future when a definite choice is made?” Dean says dumbly, and Cas nods affirmatively. 

“Yes, and he saw our choice to allow him and Gadreel into our family.” Castiel smiles softly. “Gabriel does not know how or by whom he was turned, only that as soon as he woke, he knew he needed to find Gadreel as firmly as he felt the thirst of a newborn.” 

“Shit.” Dean breathes. That’s intense. “Are he and Gadreel, together?” he ponders, and Castiel laughs. It’s as smooth and clear as glass. 

“Oh, no. Though they do share a strong bond, like Jimmy and I.” Castiel huffs, pulling off the highway and onto the access road that will eventually lead to the great town of Forks. As they grow closer, sitting in companionable silence, pregnant grey clouds fill heavier and heavier with potential rain. Dean sighs and sinks deep into the Impala’s seat, the overwhelming scent of tobacco, peppermint and Cas’ tell-tale cinnamon aroma filling his nose. It's as comfortable as Dean has ever felt, probably. He wishes he never has to leave the safe, front seat of his baby, Cas at his side and both of them invincible to the rain. 

As soon as the rain truly begins to fall, they pull into Dean’s driveway. He loathes the thought of leaving the Impala, and even more so having to say goodbye to Cas. He looks over at the other man, and meets his eyes. They’ve settled into a warm blue grey, affected by the clouds and something soft that Dean can’t name. It’s beautiful in the way that a warm, made bed is beautiful, the night before Christmas morning. Dean loves him so fucking much his chest hurts. 

“I don’t want you to leave, Cas.” Dean admits into the air, alighting the gentle atmosphere with something electric. 

“Then I won’t.” He promises, and he simply gets out of the car. Dean grins so hard his cheeks hurt, and he jumps out, not even caring about the rain that dampens his hair and shoulders. He follows Dean up his porch steps and fishes the key out of the backpack he’d been lugging around. As soon as they’re inside, the warmth and emptiness of a house without John welcomes Dean like an old friend. 

“I’m going to make dinner.” Dean says, dropping his bag inside the door, smiling down at Cas who returns it gently. “Wanna watch TV or something?”

“I would rather watch you.” Castiel admits quietly, following Dean into the kitchen. He looks around, fingers skimming along the sunshine yellow cabinets, a pinch to his brows. He finds his way to the table, and sits in the chair closest to the window, the rainy, grey light creating a halo behind his head. Dean feels the air shudder in his chest and he has to look away. It’s like staring into an eclipse, the moon alighted by the sun at its silvery back. Sometimes, when Cas’ beauty is so overwhelming, it reminds Dean of the power to that beauty, the danger of the abilities it hides. It’s awesome in the biblical sense of the world.

“Um, I’m gonna make hamburgers.” Dean stutters, rolling his eyes and how fucking stupid he sounds. He refuses to look at Cas as he pulls the ground chuck out of the sink where it had been thawing. He slaps it onto a cutting board, and removes the wrapping. The rest of the steps come naturally, and he begins to relax. Something about cooking puts Dean into a neutral place, an intense focus taking over any other annoying emotion.

He’s just putting asparagus in the pan to cook with the meat in an adventurous move, when the sound of a key in the door fills the kitchen. Dean’s eyes fly to Cas, who’s gazing at him questioningly. 

“Stay, but, not here.” Dean hisses, and just like that, Cas is gone from the dinner table, a wash of air whipping Dean’s t-shirt. “Hey, dad!” he calls roughly, clearing his throat in an attempt to seem manly, and damnit, Dean is manly. Manly enough to enjoy the company of other manly men. 

Jesus fuck.

Dean relieves himself of a bated breath, and offers his father an unbothered smile. “Hey, dad, how was your day?” Dean asks, pulling plates down. John falls into his chair, his expression and body language weary. Concerned, Dean grabs a beer from the fridge and sets it down in front of his father. 

“Another animal attack, somebody I know. He died before his boat even set to water.” John grumbles, running a hand over his stubbly face. Dean bites his lip and scowls. 

“Dad, I’m sorry.” He sighs, and he genuinely feels sorry. This shit is getting ridiculous. Where is animal control for fuck’s sake? People are dying. 

“It’s not your fault, Dean.” John hums. He nods at the oven. “Forgetting something?”

Dean swears, and rushes to the pan he was grilling his burgers on and quickly slips them onto their respective places. He gets the buns down and starts doctoring them, his father talking about the investigation all the while. Once Dean sets their plates down on the table however, the absence of Castiel’s chair heavy in Dean’s peripheral, John quiets with a frown. Its during moments like these when John reminds Dean of Cas, both prone to furrowed brows and grimaces rather than smiles and laugh lines. 

Dean hopes one day he’ll relieve the weight that drags their faces down.


End file.
